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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620942">Once Bitten, Twice Shy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrginsacrifice/pseuds/vrginsacrifice'>vrginsacrifice</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RuPaul's Drag Race RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, and the great outdoors!, get your glitzy soapy lezbean drama here, lovelorn celebrities, psychedelic dreamwalks, scheming swingers, we got jealousy we got pining we got cuckolds, we’ve graduated from love triangles to love rhombuses jsyk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:47:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>45,523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrginsacrifice/pseuds/vrginsacrifice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to "Strawberry Moon," in which Trixie and Violet go on a writer's retreat to Ojai to write a second album while Katya prepares for big changes at home in the Hollywood Hills.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova, Violet Chachki/Katya Zamolodchikova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Sophomore Slump</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I started writing this during quarantine because a sequel finally started taking shape in my mind. Full disclosure: I haven't read "Strawberry Moon" for a minute, so...will the details match up perfectly? Maybe not? But I'm going forward anyway because that's the spirit in which the first was written tbh and it's mostly complete anyway. </p><p>For now, I leave you with this little taste of a first chapter. Enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Must I explain why you’re sitting in front of me like a couple of naughty schoolgirls?”</p><p>With a twitch of his mustache, Karl frowned and folded his bronzed hands atop his desk, staring at Violet, then Trixie, then Violet again.</p><p>“You can explain why it had to be at seven in the morning,” Violet intoned, tipping back her skinny latte with a perfectly polished nail. </p><p>She sunk the cup in his wastebasket and re-crossed her legs, completely camera-ready in head-to-toe designer despite the time.</p><p>Though still far from a headline star, Violet still had a runaway hit with “Strawberry Moon” and then a critical darling with the <em>White Tiger </em>LP. She’d been in the funny papers. She’d run the awards circuit. She could be <em>recognized</em>; and therefore, had to be hyper-conscious of how she moved through the world at large. No more ugly days allowed. (As if she’d ever felt like a <em>Fat Girl with Frizzy Hair</em> a single day in her whole life.)</p><p>But Trixie still envied her. The absolute worst aspects of fame! She still wanted the golden validation of worldwide acclaim. To be told: You are <em>special</em>. You are <em>good</em>. Holy hell, a loveless childhood could do that to you. Becky and Bobby Straightsville made fat-cheeked babies to remedy that bone-deep fear of being forgotten, but her?</p><p>All she had was her guitar and a song.</p><p>Right now, no one really cared if Trixie sat next to Violet with her hair piled into a big flouncing knot, wearing overpriced athleisure that often doubled as pajama bottoms. (Even though the leggings molded her ass into a perfect bubble heart.) No one cared if she didn’t look the part of a rising star.</p><p>She was still trying though. Fuck her hole, she still wanted to be universally <em>pretty</em>, and skinny, and glowing, on top of every other lofty expectation piled onto her plate. </p><p>Trixie didn’t thrive under pressure as much as she often bragged. She kept adding more trials to her tribulations. Perhaps she really was a masochist after all. Maybe she could only thrive in certain, very specific stages of dissatisfaction and perfect desperation. </p><p>Even after years and years of writing music, she had no idea how creativity worked. She thought she would’ve learned the magic ingredient by now. (And no, it was not just Girl Scout Cookies packed into a pipe.)</p><p>“What about you, honey?” Karl asked, turning his flinty eyes to Trixie, “Can you tell me why we’re sitting here on a glorious Saturday morning? Why this <em>couldn’t</em> be handled in an e-mail? A video conference?”</p><p>Squirming in her seat, Trixie glanced at Vi, who pivoted in her chair as if daring her to answer the question. They both knew <em>exactly</em> why they’d been summoned here on a Saturday at seven sharp. They both knew they’d have to reckon with Karl eventually.</p><p>After all, they’d signed a contract. They now understood why musicians often sung about meeting at a crossroads and making pacts with the devil.Sometimes, Trixie imagined peeking under Karl’s desk and finding a pair of cloven hooves instead of his wingtip loafers. </p><p>“We’re here,” Trixie said, hesitating, “because it’s been six months on a year-long contract and we’ve only written two songs?”</p><p>“Bingo! Two stale, treacly jingles that couldn’t hack it on a Clearasil commercial,” he said, jabbing his finger against his phone. </p><p>A generic three-chord demo about boys n’ summer piped through his office like a Guantanamo torture-track. Trixie wanted to die.They’d phoned it in just to meet a deadline, just to get Karl off their backs, and Trixie was ashamed. </p><p>She winced through the nonsense chorus (<em>bada-bee-bada-ba</em>), while Vi sat higher in her chair and straightened her shoulders in rebellion of her own embarrassment. Trixie would’ve liked to replicate her poise, but she couldn’t bring herself to bullshit a sense of personal-pride. The song <em>absolutely</em> sucked. (Personal preference be damned.)</p><p>Mercifully, Karl shut it off. </p><p>“How ‘bout we christen that garbage, ‘Sophomore Slump,’ because that’s what it sounds like to me.” </p><p>Neither Trixie nor Violet had any excuse beyond a lack of inspiration, which was not a real excuse anyway. </p><p>For the past six months, whenever they’d meet up to write, neither of them offered anything of substance. They’d end every brainstorming session completely frustrated and dangerously indifferent to all the procrastination taking place. They were both <em>busy</em>. </p><p>Trixie had a new place in Malibu, and her fitness journey, and all those dental appointments, and her girlfriend, Maxine; while Violet grappled with all the peculiar trappings and distractions of her newfound celebrity, including an increasingly chaotic circadian rhythm and an ever-expanding retinue of opinionated handlers.</p><p>Violet shook back her hair, giving no ground. “So, alright, we need to push back the release until—“</p><p>“No. Out of the question,” Karl snapped, “You strike while the iron’s hot. That’s how you <em>take shape</em>.”</p><p>Violet scowled.</p><p>“I’ll enlist another ghostwriter if I must, but this album’s staying on course whether you’re in the driver’s seat or not, sweetheart.”</p><p>“It’ll be obvious if it’s not my work. Or hers,” Vi replied coolly, cutting a glance at Trixie, “And our hard work paid for that family vacation to Greece, Karl.”</p><p>“I own every track on that album and every track on the next one,” he reminded her, “So, technically, I paid for my family’s vacation, Violet.”</p><p>Trixie remained silent on the issue. </p><p>After a long period of self-reflection and then self-forgiveness, she’d accepted that Karl’s wife, her now very good friend, had been her primary muse during the first album’s inception—so, didn’t that mean, in some small way, that she should be accounted for its success? That she should reap some of its rewards? </p><p>Trixie thought so, even if it made her uncomfortable to consider the question.</p><p>She remembered scrolling through pictures of Katya’s decadent holiday in blue-domed Santorini, smiling at wholesome videos of Katya and Alyssa dancing in sarongs on blinding Mediterranean sand. She would linger on snapshots of Katya basking on the bleached hull of a catamaran and the well-timed <em>sans fards</em> candids likely sent from stepdaughter to stepmother, highlighting the scant thirteen years between them. Katya looked beautiful. She looked happy—and if not happy (because who is, really) then at least content. And then there was Karl, baked to a near-crisp, smiling wide and sincere, surrounded by his family, including his red headed ex-wife and her husband. </p><p>When Karl leaned back in his chair, regarding Violet, his smug smile was repellent by comparison.</p><p>“If you want to break contract and walk away, you say the word. But don’t expect a warm welcome if I see you at my house, <em>harassing</em> my wife.”</p><p>“<em>Harassing</em>?” Violet scoffed. “Are you serious?”</p><p>“That would be the term I would use, if I were to report a trespassing,” he said, darkening the room with a cavalier wave of his hand. </p><p>“You’re such a prick, Karl,” Violet said, pushing her luck. </p><p>“If you walk, you’ll blow everything you’ve made on legal fees anyway. I promise,” he said, his voice lower, gentler, luring her in again, casting a new line, “You’re <em>making it, </em>Violet.Why give that up now because of writer’s block? Be reasonable. We have a mutual self-interest, girls. All of us, whether you choose to see it or not.”</p><p>Folding his hands, Karl tipped his head in Trixie’s direction. His eyes slid over her as if taking her in for the first time that morning. </p><p>Trixie wanted to fold her arms over her torso, all-too-aware of her trimmer physique. Attending those pilates classes with Katya had worked like an absolute charm—her mind was calm, her body energized. For the first time, maybe ever, she felt completely at home within herself—but right now, Trixie just wanted to lock the doors, pull the shades, and turn the lights out. </p><p>“I’m giving you girls until the end of the month,” Karl said then, “<em>June. Thirtieth.</em> To come up with some decent material or I’ll make my own call on the situation, and it won’t make anything easier for you. I’ll tell you that right now.”</p><p>Violet uncrossed her legs, ready to argue, but Karl continued unfazed. </p><p>“I own property in Ojai, surrounded with fresh air, free of distraction. So, out of the goodness of my heart, I’m inviting y’all to stay there as my guests, on your own, for the duration. Think of it as a writer’s retreat. The isolation might get the juices flowin’ a little bit.” He snapped his fingers. “Make some magic happen.”</p><p>Trixie could not imagine anything worse than spending a whole month alone with Violet, tucked away in the flowering suede hills of Ojai. Violet wouldn’t agree to it, anyway. The two of them couldn’t share a bite of brunch without Violet rolling her eyes at Trixie’s naive fancies, or her provincial colloquialisms, or whatever she did that seemed to annoy her so much <em>all the time.</em></p><p>“Fine,” Violet said, resolute.</p><p><em>Fine</em>?</p><p>Aghast, Trixie stared at her, mouth open until Violet cut her a cold glance, chiding her for the overblown reaction. </p><p>“Between the two of us, I’m the one with <em>actual</em> obligations to move around. So, let’s just do it, Mattel.”</p><p>With a shrug, Violet’s expression softened. “We might as well try.” </p><p>“Excellent,” Karl commended, winking at Trixie, “Is that a yes from you, too, sweetheart?”</p><p>Defeated, Trixie sighed. </p><p>She had to give in. </p><p>Like always.</p><p>“...Yes.”</p><p>Such bullshit.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Terms and Conditions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We’re gonna kill each other, Katya. First-degree murder,” Trixie explained, while the two of them walked hand-in-hand down a ribbon of Topanga Beach, “A full Jack Torrance axe murder, I’m serious.”</p><p>Katya tipped her head back and laughed. “<em>All work and no play</em>,” she trilled, her accent thick.</p><p>“You laugh now, but there <em>will</em> be blood,” Trixie warned, jerking backward when Katya halted and let go of her hand. </p><p>Katya tossed aside the seashell she’d picked up a few minutes ago. She kneeled in the sand, her dress fluttering around her bare calves. Katya plucked a polished nautilus from the seafoam, its shell spiraled caramel and cream.</p><p>“You don’t know her like I do,” Trixie said as Katya wiped away wet sand, “She’s totally different around you. She respects you. She likes you.”</p><p>“She could like you too.”</p><p>Trixie grimaced. “Ew. Pass.”</p><p>“No, not like that,” Katya laughed, standing all loosey-goosey like a rag-doll, “Listen. If you give ground, she will feel comfortable giving some too, and then you can find common ground together.”</p><p>“Oh, wow. You could totally broker world peace with that one, Ambassador Zamolodchikova.”</p><p>She swung the sandals in her hand. “That is not my name anymore," she reminded her.</p><p>Yeah. Trixie wanted to ask: “And why hasn't that changed?”</p><p>It must have killed Violet to see those stunning pictures of Katya in Greece, not a divorce lawyer in sight, her husband glowing with self-satisfaction. Each time Trixie saw them, she felt a hot pit cratering in her stomach--and she wasn’t even the one, y’know, in love with her or whatever. </p><p>(Time, and familiarity, and the one time Katya burped the Russian alphabet after eating Indian had crushed Trixie’s crush on her wholly, totally, and completely. She was one-hundred percent not sexually attracted to her anymore. Maybe at one time, but not anymore. Not at all, bitch.)</p><p>Katya tucked some wind-tossed curls behind her ear, staring out at sea. Trixie dug her feet into the warm sand.</p><p>“Well, why do I have to be the one to give ground? Why can’t she?”</p><p>“Because she is difficult, Trixabeth,” Katya said softly, charming her with those pale green eyes, “For her, it is a matter of pride.”</p><p>"Well, what about <em>my</em> pride? She can be such a cunt, Katya. No offense.”</p><p>“I know,” she chuckled, grabbing Trixie’s hand again, “She is wonderful.”</p><p>“I believe she has her moments. I just haven’t personally experienced them, okay?”</p><p>Laughing, Katya linked them together again and then rested a warm hand over Trixie’s bare forearm.</p><p>She sounded so placid and reassuring that if Trixie didn’t know better, she’d believe Katya popped a Valium before meeting her in Malibu. She arched an eyebrow.</p><p>“You knew about this before I told you, didn’t you?”</p><p>“I am married to the devil. We do talk,” Katya laughed.</p><p>Such a weird and inconvenient reality that Karl, the dead-center of all Trixie’s anxiety, was so literally entwined (gross) with her most cherished friend, the source of so much...joy? Levity? Inspiration? (Yes, that too, as uneasy as it made her.) She knew that divorce wasn’t as easy as one-two-three, but Katya never brought it up in casual conversation. Not even when she complained about him. Not once! </p><p>“I think I might keep this one,” Katya said, glancing down at the wet shell in her palm.</p><p>“It’s pretty.”</p><p>“But what will I do with it? Go home, put it on a shelf with all the others,” she sighed, “I never look at them twice.”</p><p>“Why do you keep them then?”</p><p>“I’m a collector, Trixie. I collect. God, if I lived on my own, I would nest. It is my natural inclination to be a hoarder weighing three hundred-fifty pounds with five dead cats as my pets,” she raved, holding up her perfectly manicured hand, her rings glinting, looking everything but the basket-case she’d described.</p><p>However, if there was anything Trixie had learned from her time in Hollywood: Looks were deceiving. (And also everything.)</p><p>Scuffing through the sand, the two resumed their stroll. Violet once called them tacky for literally taking long walks on the beach together. However, unlike Vi, neither of them had ever seen the ocean before moving to California. The wide open Pacific still maintained the same romantic mystique as it did when they’d first gazed upon the sea in technicolor print. </p><p>Katya bumped their hips together and Trixie took her hand, knitting their fingers. She always found it so easy to reach out and touch her. Secretly, very secretly, Trixie loved holding Katya’s hand in public. Anyone who saw them could assume anything they wanted, and she always hoped they assumed they were much closer than they were. They didn’t see each other much these days.</p><p>For the past four months, Katya had been neck-deep sketching concept art for some hyped-up horror game. She’d flown to Shinjuku three times for consultations and entertainment expos—and she’d started to learn Japanese. She liked to show it off.  </p><p>Karl always went with her. So whenever Katya left, Trixie enjoyed a small reprieve from her manager’s inquiring phone calls and endless e-mails, but she still missed Katya very much. She missed her all the time. She missed the overlong hugs and belly-laughs, sweaty mornings in downward-dog, Sunday brunch, B-movie slashers, and (of course) beachcombing Malibu on cloudless afternoons. </p><p>Suddenly, Katya let go of her. She skipped ahead into the surf and swept up a thin reed of driftwood, bayonetting a massive dead jellyfish congealed in the sand. Katya jabbed at the iridescent glob with a childish delight that was somewhat evil—but completely charming. </p><p>Trixie laughed. “Are you twelve?”</p><p>“Look at it!”</p><p>“I am! Use a tissue next time.”</p><p>It was a bad joke but Katya laughed, prodding the thing until its dark red center bloomed throughout the jelly. For some reason, Trixie thought of placenta.</p><p>Long ago, she’d helped deliver a foal in the August heat of her grandfather’s rundown barn. Her sweat-curled hair stuck to her forehead and the mare’s hot blood slicked her forearms while the horse huffed and puffed into the hay. By the end of the drama, Trixie was dizzy with nausea and exhaustion, but so proud when she guided the foal to its rickety stilt-like legs. It was a momentous thing. Blood, swear, tears. A true labor of love.</p><p>(Her grandfather taught her how to play guitar not long after that. Then, not long after that, he suffered a massive stroke and lost his voice, then his horses, then his land, then his life. He’d always been very kind to her; and back then, kindness was in short supply.)</p><p>“It looks like an afterbirth,” Trixie voiced aloud, and Katya cocked her head, eager for more gore, “...Do you know some women eat the placenta after giving birth? It’s like, packed with leftover nutrients or something? Slap that sucker on a hot plate and grab the spicy mustard.”</p><p>Katya's eyes widened. Her face got very grave.</p><p> “Oh, I love that idea,” she said earnestly, “I love it.”</p><p>“I knew cannibalism would appeal to you.”</p><p>“Can you imagine?”</p><p>Going silent, Katya stared down at the jellyfish and prodded it once more before flinging the stick back into the ocean. She grabbed onto Trixie, pulling her so close she could taste the salty whipping waves of Katya’s hair.</p><p>“Would you come to Phiona’s graduation party this weekend?” Katya blurted out of nowhere, eyes pleading as she squeezed Trixie’s arm, “I forgot to ask!”</p><p>“Okay, where is it then? When?”</p><p>“Our house,” she said, ticking off her fingers as if trying to remember the simple details, “Three o’clock. Saturday.”</p><p>“No offense but isn’t a backyard bash, kinda, like, <em>passe</em> for the girls in your zip code?”</p><p>“Shows how much you know about my zip code,” Katya teased, bumping her hip, “It is a garden party, <em>máma</em>. Any excuse to show off our big, fancy house to all of Karl’s big, fancy friends. Oh, bring Maxine! Bring her.”</p><p>Katya was trying to sweeten the pot, but Trixie didn’t want to drag Max along. Max wouldn’t want to go either. She didn’t really <em>like</em> Katya—or...okay, okay, more accurately: She didn’t like how ‘crass’ Trixie became whenever she joked around with Katya. She didn’t like the way their conversations devolved into dirty jokes and free-word association, bad puns and worse impressions. To an outsider, Trixie realized their insular insanity could be a little annoying. So, she deliberately cooled her behavior whenever the three of them were together, which was basically<em> never</em> anyway. </p><p>Whenever Trixie tried to plan something, she always got flimsy excuses from both of them. Usually, Max had an audition she just <em>couldn’t </em>miss—but mysteriously, never resulted in a job. Katya always waved her hand about outstanding appointments with her psychic in the Valley or her weirdo pervert acupuncturist with the glass eye.</p><p>Oh, well. </p><p>Honestly, Trixie didn’t want the two of them getting too chummy anyway. Like a seventh grader, Trixie liked having her best friend all to herself, especially now that Violet and Karl and her stepdaughters and the Japanese all vied for Katya’s time now. Pearl told her she needed to make more friends, but...in this town, her general personality seemed to get in the way of all that. </p><p>“Is Violet coming to Phi-Phi’s party?”</p><p>Katya’s smile evaporated. “No.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“She declined. That is what she said to me: <em>I decline</em>,” Katya laughed, “And then she hung up on me, blocked me, and then sent me a few very sexy photos the next day. So, I am confused, but...uh, also at peace with it.”</p><p>Trixie resisted a laugh. “So, does this mean you guys are On Again or Off Again?”</p><p>“I leave that up to her,” she sighed, “It changes with the wind.”</p><p>“Can’t wait to see what’ll happen when the Anas roll in,” Trixie teased, “Let’s sell tickets.”</p><p>“Ugh,” Katya whined, curling her lip, “<em>All work and no play makes Violet a dull girl</em>.”</p><p>She pulled Trixie closer and squeezed her hand a little tighter, looking far off, before she admitted softly, “She has her reasons though.”</p><p>She sure did, but Trixie decided to shut up about it. She didn’t want to talk about Violet. She definitely didn’t want to <em>argue</em> about Violet. So, they walked a little further in silence and she hyper-focused on the way Katya held their clasped hands close to her breasts, and the sound of the ocean, and of other people on the wind, and Katya‘s contemplative hum beneath it all. </p><p>“Okay, well, I promise to come to Phiona’s party,” Trixie declared, hoping it would turn Katya’s mood—and it did.</p><p>Katya clutched at her almost painfully, her answering grin wide and bright and annoyingly beautiful. Trixie was so happy to see it.</p><p>“But only if you come to this get together thing Max is doing at my place tomorrow,” Trixie bargained, dreading the cabal of Max’s old college friends who’d been invited to her new place out of the blue. Without asking her first. But it was fine. It was totally fine. Why wouldn’t it be fine?</p><p>“I mean, I’ll go to your thing even if you can’t come to mine,” Trixie continued, “I won’t, like, hold you to it, but Pearl bailed on me last minute to do shrooms with her sixty-year-old fuck-buddy in Indio and this is my first time meeting Max’s friends and—" </p><p>“Deal,” Katya agreed instantly, “I will be there.”</p><p>Relieved, Trixie held out her hand like a dork; but instead of shaking, Katya pulled Trixie’s finger and blew a raspberry instead. </p><p>“Good. Signed in spit,” Trixie said dryly, retrieving her hand and some of her dignity. </p><p>“Yes. Signed in spit,” Katya parroted back, prancing backward in the sand, “The third most magically binding of all human fluids! And if spit is bronze, can you guess what takes gold and silver?”</p><p>Trixie smirked. “I can probably guess <em>gold</em>.”</p><p>“Not what you think it is,” she said, wagging a finger, “but when is it ever?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Creative Control</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: heterosexual content</p><p>Sorry 'bout it. The plot thickens.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By dusk, Katya returned home to Beverly Hills. The house gate rattled aside and she pulled into the terracotta driveway looping behind the flowering jacarandas and cypress spires. To her surprise, no other cars were parked in the roundabout. No Mrs. Davis. No Ms. DuJour. No Phiona, Alyssa, or Karl. </p><p>Home alone, she was giddy with possibility. </p><p>Katya swept off her sun hat and shook out her hair, enjoying the quiet sunset songs of the birds hidden in the trees. As she stepped inside, her sandals clicked against the long stretch of marble. The sound echoed through the dark house, the rooms brushed deep gold with evening sunlight. The abundant ferns whispered against the back windows while water trickled from the pool in the distance. Oh, how she loved this big stupid house. </p><p>With a contented sigh, Katya set her keys on the foyer table and then ascended the stairs, dragging her feet. She wanted a long bath brimming with lavender bubbles, her head haloed by candles. She wanted to turn up the chamber music for some divine drama, maybe slip a hand between her legs before her hair caught ablaze. She’d punctuate her day with a fantastically violent end to a lovely afternoon. After all, she’d stopped smoking. She had to light up somehow. </p><p>With a hip, Katya nudged open her bedroom door, humming off-key as she shambled inside. Then she stopped short. </p><p>“Oh. Hello.”</p><p>On the bed, Karl sat reclined in his professional attire, reading a spy novel. He was a sucker for a pulse-pounder. He looked up from his reading, whipping the glasses from his nose. He got flustered whenever she caught him using his readers. For as much as he worshiped her comparative youth, he was just as intimidated by her iron-clad bill of health. Katya never got sick. Not ever.</p><p>(In a previous life, on a lower karmic rung, she must have been a plague rat, or perhaps the Bubonic pustule quivering on a rodent’s ass.) </p><p>She pointed a thumb over her shoulder.</p><p>“Where is the, uh, Maser—?”</p><p>“The shop,” Karl said, stretching his fingers across his creased brow, “Got into a fender bender off Sunset of all places.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“No need to sound so concerned, sweetpea.”</p><p>“...Does <em>sweetpea</em> refer to the plant, or to piss?”</p><p>A smile split his face.</p><p>“You seem fine,” she said, setting the nautilus on the vanity, “Are you fine?”</p><p>“Fine as frog’s hair split four ways,” he rattled off, “but not nearly as fine as you, honey.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes and crossed them, making an ugly face, and he laughed again. </p><p>Katya collapsed onto the bench of her vanity, facing herself in triplicate as she twisted the posts off her earrings. She hated this overwrought mirror. Much too confrontational for her taste. Avoiding her own reflection, she tore off a few make-up wipes and twisted them against her eyes until she saw red-black kaleidoscopes.</p><p>Karl’s weight settled beside her. Before opening her eyes, she could smell his cologne. It was one of her anniversary gifts. Alyssa assisted with the scent: a deceptively simple blend of birch and bergamot, which suited him well. His arm wound around her waist, pulling her close.</p><p>“Where were you?” he asked, whiskers scratching against her neck, “You smell good.”</p><p>“I stink.”</p><p>“I like your stink,” he said, not disagreeing.</p><p>“I was at the beach with Trixie,” she answered, “She told me about the retreat.”</p><p>“Did you tell her it was your idea?”</p><p>“God, no. You think I am <em>completely</em> crazy?”</p><p>He squeezed her. “You should surprise them in Ojai. Spend some time with your girlfriends.”</p><p>She chuckled joylessly. “That is not a good idea.”</p><p>“You should enjoy yourself before—”</p><p>”Visiting might do more harm than good, Karl,” she interrupted, swallowing the lump in her throat. She spritzed her face with rosewater.</p><p>“They might thank you later,” he said, not disagreeing again, “No one said a muse couldn’t be cruel.”</p><p>Rolling her eyes, Katya rose from the bench and moved to the bathroom. She lingered in the doorway, rolling her knuckles against the molding. </p><p>“Violet fights me on everything,” he continued, pivoting toward her, “It’s sad. It’s like watching a wounded animal flail against fate.”</p><p>Her shoulders fell. “Don’t say that....”</p><p>“It’s the truth, Katya. This thing between you two is becoming a liability.”</p><p>“It has<em> always </em>been a liability.”</p><p>“Yes, but a manageable one. The stakes are higher now, sugar,” he said, “She’s getting noticed. Famous. She could end up making us a lot of money.”</p><p>“What you call: a<em> cash cow?</em>”</p><p>“Precisely,” he said, unfazed by her note of disdain, “I do wish I could pick up language like you do. <em>Otlichno</em>. <em>Very good</em>. Isn’t that how you say it?”</p><p>She smiled despite herself. “Yes. That is how we say it.”</p><p>“Watch. One day I may be able to hold a conversation with you.”</p><p>“Oh, I doubt that very much, <em>kozyol</em>,” she said, wrangling a shallow chuckle from him.</p><p>Karl balanced a finger on her table and then took a sharp breath, demanding her attention again.</p><p> “You need to end it, Katya. Put the poor girl out of her misery.”</p><p>“<em>Aga, shchas</em>,” she muttered, so frustrated it sounded like a hiss, “Yes, yes, I know. I know.”</p><p>This was the end. She’d have to let go of Violet’s cutting glance, her deep laugh, all her <em>opinions</em> about everything. She’d miss all the active energy between them, the push and pull that could lull her into an endless dance with Violet, if nothing were done to stop it. Katya thought of Violet in bed: her heavy breathing, her dark sweaty hair plastered to her forehead, her overblown pupils, the color rushing to her cheeks in two pretty red spots before she gasped Katya’s name. She was a marvel. She was a marvel who could do such marvelous things, and Katya felt so marvelous (so smart, so sophisticated, so <em>heard</em>) whenever she was with her.  She would miss her. Each time she saw her, Katya missed her a little bit more. <em>Blin!</em> She’d rather swallow her own tongue than give the bad news.</p><p>“But she <em>is</em> getting this chance,” Katya reiterated, “To turn things around with the music, yes?”</p><p>“I promise she has this chance, sugar,” he said, kissing her knuckles, “I promised you she would.”</p><p>Letting go of her, Karl inspected the nautilus on the vanity, turning it in his fingers. “A perfect spiral,” he observed, “It almost looks fake. Did you have a good time with Trixie?”</p><p>“She thinks the retreat is going to be a disaster,” Katya said, toying with the macrame fringe of her dress. </p><p>“It just might,” he admitted, returning to the bed, “She’s tired of playing second fiddle, and she’s been developing a little backbone lately. Do I have your yoga instructor to thank for that new body? Good God. If she composes a hot-enough hook, we could turn that into a sex symbol in time for Christmas.”</p><p>Katya hated when he started sizing Trixie up for the altar of public consumption, but such was his vocation: the wishmaster, the man who could turn a dream into reality for a coin and some concessions. In an ideal world, she’d like Trixie to remain wide-eyed and scandalized until she could call the shots for herself, be someone who didn’t have to dance on a string, who wouldn’t have to compromise so much of herself—but maybe it was too late for that. When Trixie laughed, her brand new chompers transformed her slimmer face, no longer so plush and round with dimpled sun-glazed cheeks, no longer so pleasingly plump and homegrown delicious, no longer so earnest—but Trixie seemed happier with her evolution and Katya couldn’t (<em>wouldn’t</em>) begrudge her the newfound confidence. Not in this town. Metamorphosis was no small task.</p><p>Katya rested her head against the door frame. “Like a prize pony in need of a stud....”</p><p>“It’s just business, sweetheart,” he said, mistaking her irritation for jealousy, “You know you’re the apple of my eye.”</p><p>“And the pain in your ass,” she said, mimicking his syrupy drawl.</p><p>“Come now, when has that ever been the case?”</p><p>“Give it a few months.”</p><p>“I’m looking forward to it.”</p><p>She grimaced.</p><p>“Oh, don’t go pouting now. Change is good. You’ll see.”</p><p>“Easy for you to say,” Katya fired back, tugging at the strings of her dress. Karl put down his book to watch her shimmy out of it.</p><p>“Are you getting cold feet, darlin’?”</p><p>Unable to look at him, she waved her hand. “It is too late for cold feet....”</p><p>Once again, her husband didn’t disagree. Katya stepped out of the rumpled sundress and wiggled out of her bikini, ready for that bath, to finally be alone with her thoughts. Then Karl beckoned for her. </p><p>“C’mere.”</p><p>His book was gone. He’d loosened his tie. </p><p>“I really <em>do</em> stink,” she chuckled, squirming in place and pointing toward the tub. </p><p>“I know what you smell like,” he said, patting his thigh, “Come here.”</p><p>Sighing, Katya stepped back into the bedroom and strolled to the bed, climbing into his lap. Shaking back her hair, she flung her arms over his shoulders. The wool of his suit pants rubbed against her inner thighs and he sighed happily, clutching her lower back and digging into the dimples at the base of her spine.</p><p>“I want to give you everything you want,” Karl said, looking up at her, brushing hair from her forehead, “I do <em>want</em> you to be happy, Yekaterina.”</p><p>“I know,” she said, more unsure of it now than ever before. </p><p>For her, happiness was a moving target, never coming easy, never broad enough to hit, always shifting shape. It used to look like America: hamburgers and cola, swimming pools and shopping malls, diamond rings, fancy things...but not anymore. Not quite. Sometimes, Katya found happiness in her charcoal flashing across the canvas, in her finished work. Other times, kissing Violet. Laughing with Trixie. Spoiling her stepdaughters. Still, she felt the weight of deep dissatisfaction return to her like a seasonal sickness, a never-ending longing building like a pearl at the center of her heart, defying all definition, evading all solutions. Now, she stood at the precipice of another experiment in achieving happiness, one that would change her life for good. <em>Forever</em>. It scared her a little; she couldn’t deny it. </p><p>“Are <em>you</em> happy, Karl?” She asked more out of curiosity than anything else. </p><p>“Oh, I am the happiest man in the world,” he breathed, bending his head to kiss the lone freckle punctuating the slope of her ribs. His whiskers scratched, then tickled, his voice muffled against her skin: “You <em>would</em> tell me if you played around with her...wouldn’t you?”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>Karl squeezed her waist, annoyed whenever she played dumb. In her experience, older men usually liked their girls empty-headed and sweetly-ripened, but never Karl. He’d never been interested in her as a lost little lamb. He was always straight-forward about liking it twisted. She’d found it refreshing when he was her big spender across an ocean and behind a camera.</p><p>Unlike all the others, who wanted a fantasy wedged between her life and theirs, Karl simply asked her to <em>tell him about her day</em>. So, she told him about her perilous partnership with her thieving boyfriend, and the sketchy characters he sent her to charm. She told him about her crumbling apartment, her destitute mother, her failing art, her many pseudonyms. She told him about her tryst with Sasha, her secret love of women, her brushes with authority. Everything, like a diary.</p><p>He hung on every word, even the mundane ones, while his hand choked his cock and he huffed into the camera, red-faced and jubilant and terribly excited. Dutifully naked in front of her laptop, she’d confessed all her sins in dark husky whispers until Karl eventually knew all her secrets, and then asked her to marry him, promising her everything she could ever want, anything her heart desired, as long as she continued to <em>tell him about her day</em>.</p><p>Karl promised her a better life; and for his part, he’d held up his end of the deal—and she ended up tainting every stolen afternoon with Violet by spilling the story to her husband. She’d press her lips against his ear while she pumped his dick, embellishing her <em>happily ever afters</em> whenever she got tired of tugging and rubbing, and his hips starting lurching, and she wanted to finish him off. Katya never told Karl the things she and Violet would say to each other. Not ever. Those things were painfully sacred.</p><p>“As much as you want to hear it, kozol, nothing <em>exciting</em> ever happens between Trixie and I,” she insisted.</p><p>(And she was glad for it.)</p><p>“No fun in the sun? Not ever?”</p><p>“She is my <em>friend</em>.” </p><p>As he tickled along the curve of her ass, she smacked his hand as she would a bothersome fly, purely on instinct. Karl smiled, gripping her thigh instead.</p><p>“Lies of omission are still lies, Katya.”</p><p>Pushing at his chest, Katya flattened her husband against the mattress and then set her arms beside his head, looming overhead. He grunted happily.</p><p>”Ask me what you want to ask me then,” she dared.</p><p>He considered her for a moment, as if he didn’t want to spoil his own fun, and his silence made her a little nervous. Katya sat up, sweeping a curtain of hair over one shoulder. His eyes dipped from her face, restless all over her body, zeroing-in on her pussy hovering over his belt buckle. Taunting him, she swayed her hips and arched her back, brushing her backside against the bulge curving his fly. She didn’t think Karl would ignore the sudden appearance of a natural-born boner, the old root stirred to life.</p><p>She spared a glance at it over her shoulder, caught completely off guard when Karl’s hand shot between her legs. With a yelp, Katya jumped and her knees went a little weak. She gasped. He hands scrabbled at his forearm, feeling the tendons move while he rubbed her, knowing he’d discovered the silky hot honey weighting her hips since this morning when she woke up so hopeful and mysteriously horny. Her hips shuddered forward. Karl steadied her waist, keeping her rutting upright. </p><p>“Did you tell your friend your good news, sweetheart?”</p><p>She shook her head. “N-no.”</p><p>“Not her either,” he breathed hoarsely, scooping two fingers inside, “Why not?”</p><p>As he hit a sweet spot, Katya bit down a groan, shaking her head again.</p><p>“You don’t have to answer,” he rumbled, slipping out of her and wiping his wet fingers against the back of her thigh. Karl gripped her legs, encouraging her to shuffle forward up his chest.</p><p>“Just lemme have a little taste, dirty girl,” he murmured, “then you can have that bath.”</p><p>Nodding, Katya shuffled on her knees, one hand planted on the mattress and another snaring his hair. She wasn’t gentle with him, knowing it would turn him on more.</p><p>“<em>Otlichno</em>,” she said, eager enough, and frustrated enough, to grind down on her husband’s nose and occupy his tongue with something (anything) other than wagging about her day. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Within and Without</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I meant to post this sooner. However, life has smacked me in the face with stuff. Enjoy the drama, mama.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fastening the last sprig of fresh-cut wildflowers, Trixie delicately spruced the daisies and baby’s breath before stepping back to admire her work. The whole bungalow smelled like a meadow. The asters and larkspurs hovered above glowing arrangements of handmade candles.</p><p>From far away, she could hear the sea. The salt-kissed breeze wafted through her little balcony, dancing with the white linen curtains. She loved her little Malibu dream-house: the high ceilings and red oak rafters, the white walls and open plan, her bedroom with its huge windows. It had cost her nearly everything. Even with all her royalties, Trixie still had Pearl talk down the price with her broker, with whom her cousin spent decadent weekends in Vegas whenever he could dodge his wife.</p><p>With less than an hour until her guests’ arrival, Trixie fretted over the artfully-arranged appetizers: crudités with chile-lime salt, braised polenta bites, honey figs with goat cheese, and (last but not least) authentic <em>blinchiki</em> filled with chocolate and blackberry jam as a gesture of gratitude to Katya. In one of her mirrors, Trixie checked her hair. She reapplied some gloss, smoothing her lips together when Maxine finally arrived with more wine.</p><p>“Babe,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together before gesturing to the decorations, “What do you think?”</p><p>Max looked around. She set the bottles of sauvignon next to the rosé on the counter.</p><p>“It’s a lot of flowers, Bea.”</p><p>“...You don’t like it.”</p><p>Max swept a hand through her silver pixie cut. “Don’t you think it’s a little...much?”</p><p>“Uh. No?”</p><p>“Well,” Max sighed, popping one of the corks, “It’ll do.”</p><p>Trixie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She should’ve expected that reaction. Max thought everything was <em>too much</em>, always shaving down on the good stuff to achieve some sort of artistic minimalism or ‘purity of concept’ that Trixie couldn’t always appreciate.</p><p>Case in point: Max told her she was wearing green tonight. Max was actually wearing white and beige with two olive-colored gems in her ears and a jewel swaying low on her chest. Sure, she looked stylish, but so boring. So, that was just another point where they needed to agree to disagree.</p><p>At six o’clock, Trixie received their first guest: the glossy-redheaded Aimee, who met her with an over-friendly but detached smile. She handed Trixie a bottle of chardonnay before appraising the place floor-to-ceiling.</p><p>“Wow,” she remarked, kissing Max’s cheek, “So many flowers.”</p><p>“I know,” Max murmured, smirking, “Trixie got a little overexcited.”</p><p>Aimee hated the decorations too. Very cool.</p><p>Ten minutes later, two more sorority sisters arrived with two more bottles of wine. From Instagram, Trixie knew the one with the balayage was Nathalie, a ‘self-made’ #girlboss with her own jewelry line. The blonde was Dove, who took her dog to a reiki healer twice a week to absolve its past-life stressors. (Apparently, in another life, Firefly the Schnauzer was a pox-ridden cabin-boy who died on <em>The Mayflower</em>.)</p><p>Both women greeted Trixie with disinterested eyes and over-polite smiles, surveying the place before laughing, “Oh my God, so many flowers,” in a dictionary definition of the word <em>condescension</em>.</p><p>“Isn’t it <em>cute</em>,” Aimee said as the friends joined her and Max on the sectional-chaises.</p><p>Trixie didn’t sit. She poured them each a generous glass of wine.</p><p>“It’s a great location,” Dove said, dipping her nose into her white-gold chardonnay.</p><p>“I’ve always dreamed of living in Malibu,” Trixie gushed. She tried to be gracious as she hopped to and fro delivering the munchies to her coffee table, “I can’t believe it’s real sometimes.”</p><p>“You’re so <em>cute</em>, Trixie,” Aimee said, “Where do you come from again?”</p><p>Nathalie picked at the figs. “One of those flyover states, right? Nebraska or something?”</p><p>“Wisconsin,” Max said, as if it were a third world country, “She’s a true make it or break it.”</p><p>“Oh my God, that’s so cute,” Aimee said, rapidly turning the word ‘cute’ into a bona-fide trigger.</p><p>“I loved that song you wrote for Violet Chachki,” Dove said.</p><p>At that, Trixie smiled wide, smoothing the back of her dress. She sat on the couch as if for an interview.</p><p>“For a while, you could <em>not</em> escape it,” Max snickered, and her friends laughed along with her, “It was everyone’s favorite song. Like Stockholm Syndrome.”</p><p>Trixie chilled over. (Because: hey! Only she could say that! And that was her joke: honestly self-deprecating and a perfect tee-up for reassurance. She needed some reassurance every now and then. Ever since they started working on the second album, Trixie couldn’t compose eight bars without doubting her ability to write a half-decent melody ever again.)</p><p>At the chime of her doorbell, Trixie leapt up. It had to be Katya. She scurried to the front door, flinging it open.</p><p>Beneath the porch-light, Katya jumped back in surprise, grinning brightly at her.</p><p>“Hello!” She waved a hand, the other wrapped tight around her clutch. She didn’t bring a gift, but she didn’t need one. She was enough.</p><p>Her lips were much too red, her ponytail far too high, and her dress very Her—which meant it wouldn’t look good on anyone else <em>but</em> her—and she looked so beautiful.</p><p>Trixie took her hand and pulled her inside, lingering in the shadow of the door. Katya’s grin slid into a smirk and she  pinched Trixie’s hip.</p><p>“Are they absolutely horrible?”</p><p>“They’re not great,” Trixie admitted, “Fair warning.”</p><p>“It is not a <em>fair warning</em> if I am already in the lion’s den,” Katya pointed out, peering over Trixie’s shoulder to peek at the living room.</p><p>Luckily, Max and her sisters were talking among themselves. Old friends. Easy chatter. Trixie never felt so alienated in her own home.</p><p>(No, that was a lie. That was the biggest lie. But not in <em>this </em>home. Her home. The one she made for herself.)</p><p>Katya would balance things out, tip the energy back in her favor. Katya’s presence, always so stark and strange against all her light and fluffy decor, always managed to achieve a kind of twisted <em>feng shui.</em></p><p>They’d taken a few selfies in here when she first moved in. One of them had been Trixie’s phone background for a hot minute. (Not the lockscreen. The background, the background...)</p><p>Hugging her arm, Katya’s eyes darted all over the house as Trixie led her in. She grinned, squeezing her.</p><p>“Beautiful. So many flowers!”</p><p>And she was the first one who meant it.</p><p>Trixie knew Katya would see things her way. Thank God.</p><p>One by one, the women turned to look at the last arriving guest. Behind them, the sky started turning as well, dipping the bungalow in warm dark colors.</p><p>After Trixie introduced her, Katya sat next to Dove at the end of the suede divan. Trixie refilled the wine glasses on the coffee table and then quickly backpedaled to the kitchen to fetch Katya a glass of cucumber water.</p><p>She hoped no one would offer her wine—because it could get uneasy when someone refused a drink, because people usually wanted to know <em>why</em>, and Trixie just wanted Katya to be comfortable. She garnished the glass with mint and squeezed a fresh lemon onto the ice. She handed it to Katya without a word and then rushed off to the turntable, setting the needle to a mellow Ella Fitzgerald album.</p><p>Soon enough, Max and her friends started swapping sorority stories, flinging inside jokes at each other, reliving the glory days of their time at USC. They drank more and more wine.</p><p>Playing the happy hostess, Trixie busied herself with the food and the drinks, setting the temperature and adjusting the mood lighting when the sun dipped even lower. She did everything but participate in the conversation. She didn’t linger long enough to screw anything up, and said just enough to appear pleasant and good-humored and considerate of her guests. While Trixie busied herself with some dishes, she saw Katya smiling and gesticulating among them. She was proud of her for fitting in so well.</p><p>She returned just as Max reached behind the couch and twirled their fingers together. Trixie leaned into her, propping her hip against the cushions.</p><p>“I was just telling them how you’re teaching me to play guitar,” Max said, more excited than she’d been all evening.</p><p>Trixie loved when Max got excited about something. She talked very fast, her weird snooty accent bumping and bouncing and sounding even faker than it already did, but her curtain dropped away and she became the secret Max, the Max who <em>liked</em> things and learned quickly and would burst into show-tunes for no reason.</p><p>“I am,” Trixie announced proudly to the group, “She’s actually amazing at it.”</p><p>Katya drank her water.</p><p>“Show us!” Aimee said, downing another glass. Nathalie nodded beside her.</p><p>“Yes, oh my god, Maxi! You have to. Please!” Dove clapped her hands.</p><p>“You totally should,” Trixie encouraged, and Max readily agreed, “I’ll get the guitar! One sec!”</p><p>Trixie trotted off toward her bedroom, taking the only hall in the house and a small little staircase into the dark of her bedroom.</p><p>In the twilight, she navigated to the Gibson displayed by the back wall-window. For a minute, her rosé-numbed fingers struggled with the tangled guitar strap. It was cherry leather embroidered with bright pink strawberries. It was a gift from Katya after the song charted. She gave something to Violet, too, but she wouldn’t say what.</p><p>Checking her reflection, Trixie tucked a spiral of honey hair behind her ear. Then she padded back to her living room where she heard the women talking again, their voices low.</p><p>They all looked at her when she re-entered. Handing off the instrument to Max, Trixie squeezed in next to her, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Max pressed the guitar to her small chest and her lithe fingers against the frets. She began to play “Time in a Bottle” at a third its regular tempo. Still, Max’s rendition of Tim Croce was extremely impressive for a novice. It wasn’t an easy song. She had a knack, a real natural talent radiating from her inexperienced hands, charming the house with a new and gentle sound.</p><p>All the women were quiet until Max finished and Trixie squeezed her shoulders, so pleased. They all ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed.’ Max basked in their admiration and Trixie set the instrument aside.</p><p>Seeking Katya’s reaction, Trixie instead found an empty space next to Dove. Katya’s heels were abandoned on the floor. With a quick look around, she spotted her silhouette behind the gauzy curtains, standing out on the balcony. Trixie left Max and her friends, and filled Katya’s glass with more water.</p><p>She stepped outside.</p><p>Posture tight, Katya stared out at the sea. Her tense fingers fidgeted and clicked against the railing. She’d been fidgeting a lot lately.</p><p>“I’ve noticed, you know,” Trixie said, startling her for a second, “You quit smoking.”</p><p>She handed Katya the second glass, and her friend took it with a grateful slump of her shoulders. She cradled the glass like a baby bird.</p><p>“I am <em>trying</em>,” Katya corrected her, “I have not quit yet.”</p><p>“Whatever. I’m proud of you.”</p><p>Katya waved her off. “Many people quit smoking.”</p><p>“Yeah, but now you are. And I’m proud of you.”</p><p>Katya fiddled with the sprig of mint pressed against the rim of her glass, and looked down into it.</p><p>“I think...I am going to go soon,” she said then.</p><p>Immediately, Trixie reached out for her.</p><p>“No! I mean...why? I just want you to stay. You’re the only person I like in there,” she said, trailing off in a chuckle, “I mean, aside from Max. Obviously.”</p><p>“<em>Ob-viass-sly</em>,” Katya repeated, trying to mimic the accent.  Trixie laughed at the airy-fairy tone of her voice.</p><p>Curling her toes, Trixie nudged at Katya’s bare foot. “Why do you want to leave?”</p><p>Katya sighed long and hard, as if embarrassed to say, then she motioned toward the house.</p><p>“No one likes me,” she whispered theatrically, even though her eyes told the truth of it.</p><p>“Don’t be stupid. I like you.”</p><p>Katya rolled her eyes, chiding her for being deliberately dense. She twinkled the ice in her glass and drank the rest of it. Then Trixie remembered walking in with the guitar...all those eyes shooting to her, everyone but Katya, whose head never turned.</p><p>Immediately pissed, Trixie crossed her arms. “What did they say to you?</p><p>“Nothing that is not true,” Katya said, “The One with the Hair. Her younger sister knows Phiona and Phiona told her things about my past that The One With the Hair must have heard from her sister and she decided to...ask me about them.”</p><p>“In front of everyone?”</p><p>“They had heard it all before,” she said, waving it aside again, “That was <em>obvi-ass</em>.”</p><p>Trixie wanted to spit fire. Why would they turn on a guest they barely knew when her only friend in the room, and the hostess herself, stepped away? Why didn’t Max, Miss Emily Post Extraordinaire, intervene to shut it down?</p><p>“What about Max? She didn’t stick up for you?”</p><p>Tipping her head, Katya smiled. “Oh, come on. Taking <em>my</em> side over theirs?”</p><p>“She <em>should</em> when it’s so obviously an ambush!”</p><p>“Shhh!”</p><p>Laughing, Katya stepped up against her and pressed a finger to her lips. “You are so loud.”</p><p>She took Katya’s hand in apology. Trixie wasn’t worried about Max or her sorority sisters overhearing. Inside, they were clearly enjoying another bottle—laughing, laughing, laughing, and having a great time without the two of them.</p><p>“You can leave if you want to,” Trixie relented, “I get it. That was so rude of them. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Well, my life <em>has</em> been a little rude. Listen, I am fine if they do not like me. I do not care. But I cannot even <em>drink</em>, Trixie. You understand? This is getting a little difficult for me.” With an exasperated chuckle, she added, “I ate all the <em>blini.</em>.”</p><p>There was a wild desperation in her eyes that made Trixie laugh, but she understood. After all, she’d smoothed out the evening with a few glasses of wine herself. Katya was the only completely sober woman in the house. She took Katya’s empty glass and set it aside, wrapping her in a hug. In turn, Katya held her nice and close, her body so warm it was like hugging two.</p><p>“I’m glad you came though,” she said above her ear, and Katya squeezed her once more, “I miss you. It’s like...Japan, Japan, Japan. I’m happy for you, but it’s always Japan.”</p><p>With a sly turn, Katya rested against the railing. “Have you ever been to Japan?”</p><p>“Not yet,” Trixie said, feeling white-wine-flirtatious in the low light, “Why, you wanna take me next time?”</p><p>Keeping her distance, Katya simply smiled at her, placating her with a small, “I wish I could.”</p><p>An awkward and exciting energy passed between them, like the shivery thrill before a kiss, but these moments often happened with them, and they passed without any expectation of one. They usually happened when Trixie got drunk, or when she was nervous, or after their workouts together when they were both breathless and blushing.</p><p>Every so often, she’d catch Katya staring at her in one of the yoga studio mirrors. Trixie never let on that she noticed. She didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to embarrass Katya. That’s what she told herself. However, she secretly loved the attention. It made her feel <em>good</em> to be forbidden fruit, to be wanted by the woman who had once kinda-sorta rejected her—even though she was her friend and <em>even though </em>Trixie had sworn off Katya in every possible reality. She never saw that hungry-looking Katya outside of a mirror anyway, no matter how much she tempted her whenever she felt silly enough to try.</p><p>Plus, Trixie had a girlfriend now. Duh! And she wasn’t some kind of cheater.</p><p>“I’ll walk you out,” she said softly, and Katya nodded. She was relieved.</p><p>When they stepped inside, Trixie announced Katya’s departure to the girls. Max’s friends made a big show of wanting her to stay before immediately turning back to themselves, telling Katya it was “so good” to have met her.</p><p>At the door, Katya kissed her cheek. “Thank you for having me.”</p><p>“I love you, I’m sorry it was shit. I’ll see you Saturday, okay?”</p><p>Pressed against the doorway, Trixie watched Katya leave in her pretty white Porsche until the red tail lights faded into the dark. She closed the door.</p><p>Joining the girls in her living space, Trixie tucked into Max on the couch.</p><p>Everyone’s mood improved as they drank further into the night. Over time, in the name of keeping the peace, Trixie tempered the urge to rip into those bitches like a chainsaw making confetti until Max’s friends finally left around midnight. Surprisingly, Max kissed her in the kitchen, then held her hand in her lap.</p><p>At the end of the night, Trixie blew out the last of the mood candles, scraped the dishes of barely-touched food. She stacked them in the sink basin to ‘soak’ until morning and Max cut the stereo.</p><p>Reaching inside her sundress, Trixie unhooked her bra and fished it out through the flirty cutout beneath the front bow. Sighing, she tossed it aside and gathered her hair into a buoyant bun. She heard the television and found Max settled in front of <em>All About Eve</em>. She hadn’t said a word since the last of her friends (Aimee Oh-So-Cute) nearly broke her ankle stumbling down the driveway.</p><p>Trixie snuggled in close to her, feeling way more nervous than she ought to. Max watched the television while Trixie watched Max, sliding her thumb against her leg.</p><p>“Hey, Maxi,” Trixie murmured, sliding her thumb against Max’s cool skin, “do you think you might wanna…?”</p><p>Max sighed, as if Trixie had asked her something ludicrous. </p><p>“Trixie,” Max said, as if she were explaining something simple for the final time, “I’m not into it. You know that.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know, but…I am. And you know <em>that</em>.”</p><p>Max paused the stream. “And you agreed to compromise.”</p><p>“We both agreed to compromise,” Trixie countered, "Both of us."</p><p>Trixie raised up on her knees, hoping some height would quell the feeling of rejection tightening her stomach. If she liked groveling for scraps like this, she’d still be that naïve country girl mooning over a married woman day and night, fingering herself to the memory of two aborted kisses that tasted like menthol and sparkling water. She didn’t want to be that girl again, because Violet was right: That girl was embarrassing.</p><p>But this girl was plenty embarrassing too. </p><p>"Why are you so <em>mad</em> all of a sudden?” Trixie asked. </p><p>Max cut her a stern look. “The next time you decide to invite Katya, can you please let me know beforehand?”</p><p>Trixie knit her brows. What the hell? This was <em>her</em> house!</p><p>“Max. You invited all your friends here! I was outnumbered.”</p><p>“Outnumbered?” Max crossed her arms.</p><p>“Katya is my friend.”</p><p>“She’s your <em>only</em> friend. That’s the problem.”</p><p>“Shut up, she’s not my only friend,” Trixie laughed half-heartedly, “What about Pearl?”</p><p>“Cousins don’t count.”</p><p>“It totally counts. How many of your cousins know where you keep your vibrator?”</p><p>Max winced.</p><p>For a second, Trixie forgot Max didn’t even own a vibrator. Max didn’t masturbate at all. Max was above sex, or beyond it, or philosophically opposed to it depending on her mood. At the start, Trixie was perfectly okay with it. She thought it might do her some good to concentrate on keeping her plants alive and perfecting the king pigeon pose, while simultaneously trying to write The Next Great American Record and convincing herself she <em>could</em> write The Next Great Anything in a town that didn’t even know her name.</p><p>She’d been naive. She thought <em>inspiration</em> was coming. The big kind. The kind they talk about in documentaries and e-articles written by jaded music journos. Instead, here she was: begging her girlfriend for a pity fuck to help numb her rapid backslide into obscurity when she’d never even Arrived in the first place. Oh, God. It felt karmic somehow, but maybe that was California talking. Maybe it was the gilded guilt of being newly rich and absolutely fucked.</p><p>“I wanted to broaden your horizons, Trixie,” Max said, “but you had to bring her over here, uninvited, and then embarrass me by fawning all over her. Like always.”</p><p>Oh, bullshit. Trixie sat back on her heels, genuinely puzzled. “Fawning<em>?</em> Are you serious?”</p><p>“Your eyes were flying to her all night! She left for one second, and you had to go chasing after her!”</p><p>“She was <em>humiliated.</em> By you! And your stupid friends! I stepped away for one second and you all pounced on her.”</p><p>“Is that what she said?”</p><p>“She didn’t have to.”</p><p>“Spare me. You think people don't talk about her? Know about her? You think the sales-girls on Rodeo don’t talk about what happens whenever Katya and Violet Chachki go shopping together?”</p><p>Before she could help herself, Trixie leaned forward. (What happened when Katya and Violet went shopping together? Nevermind. She didn’t want to know, and she didn’t want to be reminded of the first time she’d heard Katya's name in Pearl's mouth as a juicy piece of gossip.)</p><p>“It’s not cool,” Trixie persisted, “Bringing up stuff about her.”</p><p>“My friends wanted to defend me! They know how I feel about her, and how I feel about <em>her</em> and <em>you </em>and your thing together.”</p><p>“I literally have no clue what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“Honestly, it’s a wonder how someone so self-absorbed can still lack basic self-awareness,” Max slurred, still talking like a museum curator, “But then again, you still ask me to do something I find absolutely disgusting, so….”</p><p>Trixie reared back. “Fucking me is <em>disgusting </em>now?”</p><p>Max winced again. “It is when you say it like that.”</p><p>“I don’t understand why I have to cut off a whole aspect of my life to make you feel better about having a dehydrated <em>pussy</em>, Maxine,” she said, clenching her fist, putting extra emphasis on the rude word. She wanted to shock her, and Max shot up from couch as if properly shocked.</p><p>Trixie reached for her arm, but Max swept herself away, grabbing at her bag and keys. With a sway, Trixie got to her feet, lost in the wine and the escalation of things, and not knowing what else to do but chase after her.</p><p>“Hey, Max, wait—”</p><p>At the door, she turned.</p><p>“If you’re still desperate for someone to hold a dildo while you back up onto it, maybe you should call up your friend Yekaterina and wave a fifty in her face,” Max sneered, hitting her with some crudeness of her own before she stormed out the front door, "I'll pick up my car in the morning."</p><p>She was very steady on her feet for being so thin and so drunk.</p><p>“This is <em>my</em> house!” Trixie shouted after her, just as ineffectual as every drunken demand for an apology made in the dead of night at two in the morning.</p><p>It was over anyway. It didn’t matter. This was catastrophic. Max already had an Uber waiting for her at the end of the driveway.</p><p>Was she actually getting <em>dumped</em> right now?</p><p>Under too many flowers, Trixie shuffled back to her couch and stood for a wobbly second. Unable to process. Unable to cry. She collapsed face down onto the cushions and stayed there until late the next morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Up Next: Miss Violet. Finally.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Whipping Girl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Violet arrived late to Phiona’s big party—on purpose, of course. After all, she wasn’t supposed to show. She’d refused to attend. She had better things to do.</p><p>Yet, here she stood outside the gate, clutching Phiona’s gift in front her: a bag inside a bag. It was a Hermès, the one Katya pointed out the last time they went shopping together. Little Phi-Phi had been pestering for a charge on her card, but Karl didn’t think she was responsible enough for such a little bag with such a high tag. It was the perfect gift coming from Violet, who’d gladly pay three grand to watch Daddy Dearest eat some crow.</p><p>The party valet whirred her little Audi into the terracotta courtyard jig-sawed with all kinds of slick rides. Violet navigated the motorcade-labyrinth on sky-high stilettos, never faltering in her step.</p><p>Inside the foyer, the caterers greeted her first, exchanging her gift for a flute of pink bubbly. They all had the eager smiles and bright eyes of wannabe actors, busking for a connection, a way in. They reminded her too much of herself. The first time she visited this house, she was hopeful and hungry too—and if they wanted even a fraction of what Violet wanted, she felt compelled to warn them they’d have to service more than a smile.</p><p>All puppets had their strings.</p><p>She’d accomplished most of her goals, but only in the most technical way, devoid of all the passion and satisfaction of a scorched-earth victory. She didn’t want to share her career. She didn’t want to share anything. She was a fucking <em>talent</em>, and yet….</p><p>And yet.</p><p>Ojai was her last-ditch effort. Do or die.</p><p>Obviously, she had no intention of dying—and she had no intention of compromise. Not anymore. No more giving in.</p><p>Except to Katya, who’d pled with her over the phone to come to this stupid party, all pouty and mumbly, husking that she wanted ‘someone of hers’ there to make it better. Her voice made Violet so weak with excitement that she had to keep telling her ‘no’ just to keep from begging her to come over and <em>make her</em>.</p><p>They hadn’t seen each other in nearly a month. They hadn’t touched for even longer.</p><p>She hoped showing up unannounced, looking like a knock-out, might inspire Katya to whisk her away to a hidden place in this big empty house—a place that was hers alone, like her disgusting atelier. Violet dreamt of tripping into Katya’s hidden trunk of furs, mixing herself with all the forbidden things belonging to her there.</p><p>That’s what being a mistress was like: Floating from one sad fantasy to another, cloud to cloud with nowhere to ground herself, holding onto a thread of love too delicate for how rough she’d like to play with it. Her love life was a glamorous Lifetime cliché. Though, sometimes, she really loved being the whipping girl—which was the tricky part.</p><p>(Katya always acted so shy whenever Violet wanted it to hurt a little; but by the time Violet’s ass was flushed and marbled with Katya’s decisive strikes, Violet could swear Katya was the cynical video vixen from the Eastern Bloc with a cigarette dangling from her red pout. She wouldn’t even need Katya to spit on her fingers and rub her like a lottery ticket—but she always would, and Violet would thrash against the ribbon knotted around her wrists while every inch of her sobbed deliciously. Afterward, Katya would hold her, smelling safely of Chanel, and kiss her very sweetly. She always made her laugh, which was the worst thing of all.)</p><p>Taking a sip of champagne, Violet stepped outside. The grounds were immaculate, glittering, every bloom remastered in technicolor with candles floating in the pool. The lighting was flattering for photos and the decorations were just whimsical enough to celebrate an eighteen-year-old girl. The teenagers clustered around the curtained fire-pit at the far end of the lawn, where Phiona had started shrieking at another girl. She hoped they wouldn’t cross paths. That brat always had something to say whenever she caught Violet lurking around the house. (She must’ve thought Violet was fucking her dad, which...ugh. No, honey. Just your step-mommy.)</p><p>Violet recognized the usual suspects from Saboteur in attendance along with a few high-profile restaurateurs, venture capitalists, and the like-the type-the sort, the ass-kissers and the kissed-asses. She saw Karl schmoozing by the bar while a gaggle of glamorous women hot on the heels of another successful charity luncheon swarmed around the caviar and toast. Then, she spotted Katya. Her white-gold hair was up in a twist and she wore a white Gucci number they’d picked out together, specifically for occasions when Katya needed to be <em>Missus Trophy Wife</em>above all else.</p><p>Tucked against the hydrangeas and hollyhocks, Katya hid away from the party with Barbie, who always looked pretty in pink, like a dearheart virgin from a rose-colored love story. Ugh. She looked good though.</p><p>Y’know, for <em>her. </em></p><p>Violet shouldn’t have been so surprised to see her. After all, Trixie was <em>one of Katya</em>’s. Violet tried to ignore the flicker-flash of jealousy—because all that stuff was forever ago and all of them were over it—but lately, she wondered if Katya ever ‘made the time’ between all her jet-setting for her <em>Bestie</em> <em>Trixie</em>.  For all Violet knew, those two sluts could’ve synced their menstrual cycles by now. Gross.</p><p>(Sometimes, Violet took a cheap victory in being objectively hotter than Trixie, but… it rang hollow at times. Like now.)</p><p>Trixie noticed her arrival first, poking Katya in the ribs. Katya didn’t get it. She bent over and giggled, unaware. Then her eyes fell on her, going as wide as her smile.</p><p>“Violet!”</p><p>Minding her heels, Katya scooted over to her, wrapping Violet in a hug.</p><p>“Thank you for coming,” she gushed, air-kissing for decorum, “You look beautiful. Fantastic. Yes. Absolutely.”</p><p>Katya pulled back to drink in Violet’s little Fendi number and the way her body looked in it. She touched the fall of raven hair against her collar.</p><p>“So do you,” Violet returned, wanting to say she’d missed her and wanted to see her and please-fingerfuck-me-now, but she didn’t. Instead, Violet took a long sip of her drink and joined them.</p><p>“Hi, Violet,” Trixie said.</p><p>“Beatrice,” Violet returned, “It looks great out here, Katya. Did you do all this?”</p><p>“Oh. Uh. Yes, but also no,” she stammered, turning all the rings on her fingers as if she were her own puzzle box, “My event planner—”</p><p>“Event planner?” Trixie cackled, “You have an <em>event planner </em>now?”</p><p>“If I tried to do this on my own, Phiona would have beaten me bloody and crucified me,” Katya shot back, nodding for emphasis, “Thank you very much.”</p><p>“To be fair, most people wouldn’t care for road-kill as grad party décor.”</p><p>Katya chuckled. “Greasy shit smeared across the walls….”</p><p>“Hot piss filtered through the soda machine.”</p><p>Katya laughed. Trixie laughed. Violet rolled her eyes. As usual, they’d suck the marrow from a funny bone until everyone else got too annoyed to laugh along with them.</p><p>“Well, ain’t this the cutest little coven I ever did see,” Karl intruded out of nowhere, sidling up to curl a hand around Katya’s waist. He pointed his drink at Violet, smiling, all liquored-up and Southern cordial, “I am surprised to see <em>you</em> here. Change of heart?”</p><p>“I moved some things around,” Violet lied, an obvious pleasantry, “I wouldn’t miss this for the whole world.”</p><p>“I’m glad, I’m very glad you’re here to celebrate my little angel,” he said, tipping his glass, “Enjoy yourself.”</p><p>He turned to his wife and pulled her aside. She tilted her head close to him as he murmured something, and she nodded. Karl broke away from her.</p><p>“Ladies,” he said, excusing himself.</p><p>Without a hint of self-deprecation or embarrassment, Katya turned back to Violet and Trixie, and sighed, “I have to leave for a minute.”</p><p>They both accepted it. No fuss. Katya crossed the party to join Karl by the bar. The handsome mixologist juggled a few bottles and impressed the suits with periwinkle cocktails billowing with dry ice.</p><p>Trixie shuffled up beside her. “So...are you packed for Ojai yet?”</p><p>“Are you being polite or do you actually care?”</p><p>“Wow,” Trixie prickled, sounding more like herself, “Cool your jets. I was just asking a question.”</p><p>“It’s Ojai, Trixie, and we’re leaving in like three days. Of course I haven’t packed yet.”</p><p>Ojai, of all places. Barely two hours away. Some retreat. He should’ve sent them to his lodge in Aspen, or the place in Sonoma where Karl attended that little Illuminati summer camp with all the big boys, praying to owls and sacrificing virgins or whatever. Maybe they’d take Trixie one year. She could pass as one.</p><p>“I’m mad at her,” Violet said, switching the subject, “Did she tell you that?”</p><p>“She mentioned it. Do you...wanna talk about it or—?””</p><p>“Of course I don’t want to talk about it,” Violet snapped, even though she brought it up.</p><p>“If it makes you feel any better, I just got dumped a few days ago, so….”</p><p>“It doesn’t make me feel <em>anything</em>, but…That really sucks, Trixie. I’m sorry.”</p><p>As a waiter floated past, Violet deftly replaced Trixie’s glass with another. Toasting one another, they sipped in solidarity.</p><p>“Maybe it’s for the best, though,” Violet offered up, “You’ve become really cynical these past few months….”</p><p>“Cynical?”</p><p>“Yes. <em>Cynical</em>. Like, harsh,” Violet said, gesturing, “You can see it in your skin.”</p><p>Trixie glared at her. “Thanks, Violet. That’s very helpful.”</p><p>“I’m just letting you know.”</p><p>Trixie sighed. “I’m really stressin’ about the album, Vi. I’ve been so wound up about everything else. I can’t focus for two seconds.”</p><p>“You’re not the only one going through it, bitch,” Violet said in a rare admission of weakness, before her voice regained its natural force, “But fuck writer’s block, okay? We’re gonna make it happen in Ojai.”</p><p>Somewhat encouraged, Trixie smiled at her. “Okay. We’re gonna make it happen in Ojai,” she said, drinking.</p><p>Both of them watched Katya absently knead a kink from Karl’s neck while he spoke to a sunburnt out-of-towner. Violet recognized him from Katya’s Instagram as Ginger's husband, the girls’ stepfather. When Katya finished, Karl patted her hand with a fond look. Violet curled her lip.</p><p>“Their three-year anniversary was in February,” she said to Trixie, deciding she wanted to <em>talk about it</em> after all, “She’s finally free and clear in the court of law, and she hasn’t done anything.”</p><p>“That stuff takes time, Violet. She’s probably still trying to…figure it out.”</p><p>Even Trixie sounded doubtful.</p><p>“She doesn’t even <em>talk</em> about it. Does she talk about it with you?”</p><p>‘It’ being the forbidden word: Divorce.</p><p>Sympathetic, Trixie shook her head. “No.”</p><p>“Do you know she doesn’t even have a pre-nup?” Violet scoffed. “This is <em>California. </em>She could cut him in half with the swipe of her credit card.”</p><p>“I think—” Trixie shook her head, stopping herself.</p><p>For once.</p><p>And <em>for once</em>, Violet actually wanted to hear it.</p><p>“What? What were you gonna say?”</p><p>“Sometimes, I think,” Trixie said carefully, “...he actually <em>likes</em> that, y’know? Sometimes, I think that’s their <em>thing</em>. He just trusts her not to do it.”</p><p>“But she could if she wanted to.”</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>Violet considered it. Most of the time, she liked to excise Karl from the whole equation. She didn’t want to speculate about Katya’s stupid marriage, especially not since Karl’s shudder-inducing comparison of his wife to a deadly exotic pet. Especially not since the old cuck found out about them...and then didn’t mind when Katya and Violet continued to see each other.</p><p>Beside her, Trixie cocked her head. “That might explain why he doesn’t feel at all threatened by you.”</p><p>“Fuck you, Trixie.”</p><p>”I’m just letting you know,” she fired back, all smug.</p><p>Not a minute later, Katya returned to them, overjoyed to be released back into the wild. With a chuckle, she reached for Trixie, about to tell her some funny thing when Violet intercepted. She grabbed her arm.</p><p>“Can I steal you for a second?”</p><p>Katya hesitated (which Violet <em>did not</em> appreciate) and then nodded.</p><p>“Okay. Yes,” she said, glancing at Trixie, “We will be back soon.”</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” Trixie said, shrugging, “Pinky swear.”</p><p>Taking her hand, Violet twirled Katya around and led her indoors. She strode past the caterers hard at work in the kitchen, and away from the guests mingling around the ground floor.</p><p>She dragged Katya further into the house, destination in mind, moving as naturally through its halls as one who lived there. It was weird sometimes. She’d eaten out of their refrigerator. Swam in their pool. <em>Fucked on their bed. </em>(Like, a couple times.) Violet was an interloper, an invasive species, and Trixie was right: Karl wasn’t threatened. Karl was downright accommodating.</p><p>Trailing after her, Katya went along without any protest until they almost reached the atelier. Then she yanked on Violet’s hand. “Oh! Wait!”</p><p>Too late.</p><p>Violet rushed ahead through the door, nearly tripping over her feet when she saw the state of Katya’s little room.</p><p>“Why is it so<em> clean</em> in here?”</p><p>Violet toed into the near-emptied room. Her steps echoed as she drifted toward the fresh-packed boxes wedged against the walls, their contents identified only by scribbled loop-de-loops of Katya’s Cyrillic cursive. Her art supplies were all gone. All her knickknacks. Her movies. Her music. Her furs. Gone.</p><p>Katya nudged the door closed. She entered the room slowly, as if it were a sacred place, like she didn’t want to make too much noise.</p><p>“Rearranging,” she explained, “Alyssa is gone. Phiona is leaving….”</p><p>“So, what’s this room gonna be?”</p><p>“The sex dungeon,” Katya said, pinching her bottom.</p><p>“Ew,” Violet chuffed, wandering to the naked windows.</p><p>Outside, Karl yukked-it-up with Alyssa (sparkling in her outfit more than the graduate herself) and his ex-wife, Ginger. At the bar, Barbie Girl looked incredibly bored while a Random Ken tried his best to woo her, his eyes magnetized to her big pink tits. Good. No interruptions. No hide n’ seek.</p><p>Katya brushed up behind her, touched her arm. Violet could smell her perfume, feel her body heat. The nearness of her electrified every nerve. At these times, she was glad for her height over Katya, because crawling back always made her feel incredibly small.</p><p>”I didn’t mean what I said. Over text,” Violet huffed out, resting her hip against the sill, ”Like, I <em>meant</em> it, but…”</p><p>(Her text barrage was something to the effect of: <em>Don’t bother FaceTiming if you’re gonna hang up in two seconds. Better idea: Don’t talk to me at all.</em> And then Violet ghosted her. Or would’ve ghosted her, if she hadn’t caved with the pics first. But she was lonely, and horny, and her light was so right that night.)</p><p>“I know,” Katya said, comfortably adjusted to her fits of cyber-pique.</p><p>“I never see you anymore.<em> I want to see you</em>,” Violet challenged, crossing her arms, ”Don’t you want to see <em>me</em>?”</p><p>“I do,” Katya whined, “I do! But! Everything is moving so fast, Vi. There is no time.”</p><p>“You think I’m not busy? Appearances, photo-shoots, interviews, <em>my second album</em>? You should know. Karl cashes the checks, doesn’t he?”</p><p>Her face fell. “Yes. You’re right.”</p><p>Violet popped a hip. “So, I’m just low on the totem pole then.”</p><p>Katya furrowed her brow.</p><p>“On your priorities,” Violet clarified, losing patience, “It means I’m the last person you think about.”</p><p>Katya’s face fell. “That is not true, Violet.”</p><p>“Well, it feels like it.”</p><p>Pushing off the window, Violet gravitated toward the weird old desk left in the center of the room, the last bit of furniture left. She traced a figure-eight against the wood. Of course, she understood Katya’s work was important to her. She wanted her to work! After all, she’d only agreed to sing Trixie’s little love song, and make it her <em>flagship single</em>, on the condition that Karl encourage Katya to pursue her art and make her own money. At the time, she’d chalked it up to her own shrewd negotiating skills. Now, she wasn’t sure what to think.</p><p>Not too long ago, on a balcony at the Chateau Visage, she’d mocked Trixie for her homespun ideas of romance—and yet, she’d ended up bargaining for Katya’s career as if it would magically result in her <em>liberation</em> somehow.</p><p>No good deed goes unpunished.</p><p>Katya stood there looking defeated, brushing away a lock of hair that had fallen out of her twist. Violet could not believe it took her until this moment to notice their sartorial synergy: Katya dressed in white and gold, Violet in black and silver, the contrast reflected in the colors of their hair, both with a penchant for a red lip. They always looked so good together—even though they never planned in advance—and Violet hated loving it so much.</p><p>From her fingers to her toes, Katya squirmed like a kid after too much caffeine, looking anywhere but Violet’s face.</p><p>”You look like you have to pee,” Violet said, crossing her arms, “<em>Do you</em> have to pee?”</p><p>Katya laughed, evaporating the tension.</p><p>“Yes,” she joked, taking on a serious tone, her accent low and deadly, “Get down on your knees and open wide.”</p><p>Violet smiled. ”You’re disgusting.”</p><p>”It is my most attractive quality.”</p><p>Katya walked her fingers across the desk and Violet perched herself on the ledge. She didn’t expect an apology. Not for a relationship predicated on no expectations. She’d set those terms <em>herself</em> after hooking up with her manager’s wife had become more than a one-time-fun-time in Palm Springs.</p><p>“I do wish I could spend more time with you, Violet,” Katya said softly, finally looking her in the eye—and Violet knew she was telling the truth. For now, the truth was enough to mollify her.</p><p>“Then come visit while we’re in Ojai,” Violet said, tickling her forearm, “Spend a couple days with me.”</p><p>Shrugging, Katya twirled a finger through Violet’s hair. “Won’t I be a distraction?”</p><p>“Only the best kind.”</p><p>Locked on Katya’s lips, Violet dipped her head and finally kissed her. Though an unexpected clash, Katya quickly caught up. Her hands hovered around Violet’s face, hesitating, before sliding to her waist.</p><p>“Don’t fuck up my makeup.”</p><p>“You fucked it up when you put it on,” Katya volleyed back, muffling Violet’s laughter with a slow, wet flicker-roll of her tongue.</p><p>Her kiss liquefied every bone in the brunette’s body, the blood pounding in her ears, between her thighs. This was more like it. For the first time, she couldn’t taste smoke on her tongue—and God, she wanted to be breathless by the time they broke apart.</p><p>Katya pulled back. “What about Trixie?”</p><p>“What <em>about</em> Trixie,” Violet huffed, “She’ll just have to deal. Katya, c’mon, it’s only for a couple days and it’s not like she doesn’t know.”</p><p>She spread her legs a little wider, inching the fabric up her thighs. Hooking her ankles around Katya’s knees, she coaxed her a little closer. Her right stiletto slipped from her toes, clunking to the parquet floor.</p><p>Running her hot palms up Violet’s thighs, Katya sucked small kisses against the corner of her mouth, the curve of her jaw, tender enough not to smudge her lipstick. When her fingers finally danced against Violet’s bare pussy, she pulled back to look.</p><p>“Okay. Alright,” Katya breathed, properly distracted now, “No underwear. No...anything.”</p><p>Smug, Violet tossed her hair and tipped back on her elbows, the wood digging hard into the bone. “So, you ready to make it up to me?”</p><p>“What a mess,” Katya tutted, smirking as she swirled her fingertips against Violet’s wet pussy, “You need to find someone who can keep up with you.”</p><p>“You do me fine,” Violet gasped, while Katya started petting her even wetter with two firm fingers, “When you’re around…”</p><p>“Exactly my point, <em>malishka</em>,” she murmured, kneading her hip with one hand while her thumb orbited Violet’s aching clit.</p><p>Katya was just playing with her, luring her into a swirling greedy hypnosis of heavier and hungrier hips, and Violet loved being this kind of desperate—panting like a whore, wiggling against a hard surface, wishing she were naked, wishing Katya were naked. With every experimental slide of Katya’s fingers, Violet felt herself fluttering, puckering, wanting her inside.</p><p>“I don’t want anyone else,” Violet gasped, “I want you. That’s the whole fucking problem.”</p><p>“Violet….”</p><p>“Enough,” she breathed, “Hurry up.”</p><p>With a laugh, Katya pulled away. Her disapproving look made Violet gush. She would think her beautiful blonde entirely unaffected if not for the high flush along her cheekbones, the gravelly warmth of her voice when she asked, “What is your magic word?”</p><p>Violet rutted against her. “<em>Pozhaluista</em>.”</p><p>That accent was perfect. Perfected over time. The only word she knew in Katya’s native tongue: <em>Please</em>.</p><p>“Don’t mind if I do,” Katya replied with a goofy chuckle, her eyes falling between Violet’s legs again. She braced her arms, tonguing her lower lip in anticipation as she bent down.</p><p>With an ecstatic smile, Violet’s head fell back. “God. Yes. Finally.”</p><p>“<em>Hello? Katya</em>?”</p><p>They both jumped at the sound of her housekeeper over the intercom.</p><p>“<em>Blyad</em>,” Katya hissed, pushing back from the desk. She trotted over to answer her summons, nearly pressing the button with her right hand before thinking better and switching to her left.</p><p>“Yes, Mrs. Davis?”</p><p>Waiting for a reply, Katya glanced back at Violet and licked off her wet fingers, which made the brunette sigh (because it was hot, duh) but also because it signaled the end. Fuck. They weren’t gonna finish this.</p><p>“<em>Mister Karl is about to make the toast.”</em></p><p>Katya brightened up. “Oh! Oh, good! I will be right down. Thank you!”</p><p>Sitting up, Violet extended a leg to toe into her lost shoe and shimmied her dress back down. Smoothing out the fabric, she tried to steady herself even though her clit was pounding like a jackhammer and her inner thighs were dewy with her own sweat and slick.</p><p>“Why are you so excited about his stupid toast<em>?</em>”</p><p>“I convinced Karl and Ginger to let Phiona take her friends to Aomori during the Nebuta Matsuri light festival,” Katya said, blindly fixing her hair, “She has no idea.”</p><p>Of course, she spoke Japanese with a perfect accent. (Or what passed as perfect, because Violet didn’t actually speak Japanese.)</p><p>Violet touched Katya’s waist and gently kissed the exposed slope of her neck, wiping away the lipstick with her thumb.</p><p>“Look at you, <em>being mommy</em>,” she razzed, laughing when Katya’s right foot gave out for a second, “It’s kinda hot, Yekaterina.”</p><p>“No, it’s not,” Katya chuckled over her shoulder. She turned, taking Violet’s hand. “I am sorry. We will finish this in Ojai. I promise.”</p><p>“Whatever, bitch. Fine. You’ll finish me. I’ll finish you.”</p><p>Katya smiled. “Now there’s a concept.”</p><p>With a final peck, Katya scurried out of the atelier, leaving Violet alone to groan and sigh and hike up her skirt again, cramming her own hand against her cunt. She made short work of herself, sobbing a little orgasm into her chest before she wandered to one of the nearby bathrooms to spritz tap onto her face. She rejoined the party outside just as everyone started clapping, Karl finishing his speech with his glass raised. Some wise-ass in the crowd made a crack about “empty-nesters” that made Phiona look as if she wanted to die of embarrassment. Standing beside Karl, Katya and Ginger looked on with tolerant smiles.</p><p>Violet scanned for Trixie and found her, once again, pressed against the hydrangeas and hollyhocks, looking only slightly tipsy but very unimpressed. She joined her just as Karl announced the big surprise. Overjoyed, Phi-Phi leapt up and squeezed her father around the middle, then embraced her mother, before shrieking with her friends. Though Katya didn’t receive a hug, or any kind of acknowledgement from her stepdaughter whatsoever, she beamed bright and beautiful and clapped for her all the same.</p><p>Violet glanced at Trixie. “Are you staying for much longer?”</p><p>“I was planning on staying the whole time,” Trixie said, as if shocked by the question.</p><p>“Kiss up.”</p><p>“Weren’t <em>you</em>? You <em>literally</em> just got here.”</p><p>“Shut up, I’ve paid my dues,” Violet said, wishing she’d grabbed another drink, “We’re not gonna see much more of her anyway.”</p><p>Hugging her middle, Violet watched Katya speak into Karl’s ear and whatever she said made him even happier. Why did <em>he</em> get to be happy? Why did Katya keep him that way? In front of all their guests, he kissed her. Twice. Always twice.</p><p>Honestly, she hated him.</p><p>“Watching Karl and Katya play happy family is harder for me than it is for you,” Violet said, “Like, emotionally.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Trixie conceded softly, “I guess.”</p><p>Behind Violet, the garlands stirred with the evening breeze and a dark flower tickled her cheek, like a taunt from the universe. She snatched the bloom, plucked it right off. Violet tossed it to her feet and crushed it with her heel.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. And the Beat Goes On</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At half past midnight, the house finally went dark. The family said goodbye last: Alyssa left for her boyfriend’s apartment in Silver Lake, Ginger and her husband for their hotel downtown, and Phi-Phi for a weekend afterparty with her neighborhood friends.</p><p>Trixie stuck around longer than Katya expected, circling back to sober before they said goodbye at her door with kisses on the cheek and well wishes for Ojai. She didn’t tell Trixie about the possibility of her visit. Even though it wasn’t a possibility anymore. It was a promise.</p><p>At the tail-end of the evening, Katya lost track of Karl amongst the straggling help. Rather than look for him, she enjoyed her solitude, washed up and undressed for bed. She woke two hours later with his arm slung across her bare back and a <em>terrible-no-good-very-bad</em> craving for a cigarette.The gnawing for one began after her encounter with Violet. It had never subsided. Now alone, stock-still and wide awake, Katya couldn’t ignore it any longer.</p><p>With infinite care, she extracted herself from beneath her husband, freezing only when he mumbled and grumbled and turned over in his sleep. With a close eye on him, she slipped on her robe and crept out the dark room. She didn’t bother with any of the lights, feeling like a Gothic heroine as she swept through the empty halls, down the staircase, and into the empty kitchen below.</p><p>She switched the back-lights over the countertops and then lifted out a stool, positioning it carefully so the legs wouldn’t drag. With her knee on the cushion, she stood, balancing to reach the pot rack hanging over the island. Blindly, Katya felt between the grooves of brushed steel to retrieve a single Marlboro and the lighter she’d stashed there before hopping down, scurrying to put everything back in its place. She set the cigarette and lighter on the island in front of her and took a long breath, braced herself on the edge, and...stared. Her fingers twitched for it. The all-over itch screamed at her to light up, take a drag, and exhale everything into the night: the reams of concept art in review, the dread of confronting Violet in Ojai, and of course...the other thing.</p><p>She wondered: What else would she begin craving in place of cigarettes?</p><p>If she kicked one bad habit, she usually picked up another. Would she start biting her nails? Eating paper? <em>Praying</em>?</p><p>Katya drummed her nails against the marble, biting her lip so hard it could split. Would one smoke be <em>so</em> bad? So irrepressibly irredeemable? How much damage could Big Tobacco possibly do after all the damage it hadn’t yet done? She was ‘perfectly healthy.’ Inside and out. Those were the Doctor’s very words. She was a radiant freak of nature.</p><p>“I wondered where you ran off to.”</p><p>Katya jumped at Karl’s voice.</p><p>Flicking the overhead lights, her sleepy husband shuffled into the kitchen. Discreetly, Katya slid her hand over the contraband while Karl busied himself with the liquor cabinet, permanently unlocked now that both girls weren’t home. He hooked his finger into a snifter and pulled a bottle of aged bourbon, setting both on the counter.</p><p>“Unbelievable, still craving a nightcap after a night like tonight,” he lamented, pouring one nonetheless. Karl spooned a few cubes into the crystal glass, moving around the island to drink. At the last second, he hesitated, regarding her with newfound alertness.</p><p>“What are you doing? Standin’ down here in the dark?”</p><p>“Water,” Katya lied impulsively, even though there wasn't a glass of water anywhere in sight.</p><p>With a skeptical flash of his brows, Karl nodded and took his first sip. He grit his teeth and swirled the amber liquid around the glass. “I saw you slip away with Violet.”</p><p>“Karl,” she sighed, “It is late.”</p><p>“And yet here we are. Both awake.”</p><p>Frustrated, Katya fought to keep herself still. “Must you know <em>everything</em>? All the time?”</p><p>He smiled. “That’s marriage, Yekaterina.”</p><p>Their marriage, particularly.</p><p>“I am sure you don’t tell <em>me </em>everything.”</p><p>“Yes. I do, in fact,” he chuckled, “And before you start, yes, even about that Bohemian Grove business. At the cost of sworn secrecy I might add. My comings and goings are not as interesting as you’d like, but nothing’s ever enough for you.”</p><p>At that, she almost lifted her hand to gesture at everything around her. What a ridiculous thing to say! As if she wasn’t acutely aware of every beautiful thing she now owned, every luxurious dish and painful shoe, the trips all over the world.</p><p>Had he forgotten how she used to live in Solntsevo? Surfing couches and selling her ass and bunking up with a lyng-cheating-good-for-nothing-goose-stealing miscreant like her ex-boyfriend Dimitri? She’d always thought her desolate surroundings were the thing that made her stand out to him, drew him to her. Now he was calling her <em>spoiled</em>?</p><p>So Katya huffed and rolled her eyes, telling him exactly what she thought about <em>that.</em></p><p>Instead of back-tracking, Karl smiled. “I don’t mean it like that, sugar. You’re easily amused, not easily impressed. That’s what I like about you.”</p><p>She shrugged at the unexpected compliment. “I thought it was my certification as a notary public.”</p><p>He smiled wider, taking another drink.</p><p>“Violet wants me to visit her in Ojai,” she confessed, forlorn, “That is what happened.”</p><p>“Ah,” he said, mocking Violet with a toast, “Great minds think alike.”</p><p>“Stop it. It is one thing to break her heart, Karl. It is another to do it while profiting off her lifelong dream.”</p><p>“Everyone profits off a dream, Katya. That’s why you’ve gotta <em>dream big</em>.” He drained his drink. “Look at you and I. Your big dream was Beverly Hills. I made it happen for you. Now I get to help myself to a healthy piece of your delicious pie. See how that works?”</p><p>Her grimace slid into a smile. “You are a truly vile American man.”</p><p>“And that may be the only thing you genuinely like about me, Soviet Cinderella.” He rubbed his fingers. “Besides <em>cha-ching</em>.”</p><p>“I don’t have to tell you why I like you,” she teased, enjoying it a little, “You’ve made it farther with me than all the other boys.”</p><p>“Not the girls though.” He clicked his tongue, pointing at her. “They get a whole other side of you, don’t they?”</p><p>She was surprised. “Does that make you jealous?”</p><p>Karl shrugged, depositing his glass in the sink for Mrs. Davis. “Lately. Yes, it does. I’m not used to you pouting so much, sugar.”</p><p>Pressing against her back, he wrapped his arms around her, his thumb sneaking inside her robe to rub her bare skin. He kissed her neck once, twice. His whiskers bristled just enough to cross her wires, and Katya didn’t know whether she wanted to lean in or pull away—a familiar sensation when it came to her husband.</p><p>“Karl,”she said, dropping her head on his shoulder, “Violet is going to <em>hate my guts </em>for this, you understand?”</p><p>“What is it about her that you like so much? It boggles the mind.”</p><p>Violet was honest. Fearless. Selective. She knew herself, trusted herself, loved herself. More than admirable, those were beautiful qualities to Katya—who still struggled with the sharp black words mortared at her since puberty, the severity of which no English translation could replicate, and the honeyed insults of Hollywood cotillions who still asked if she was a mail-order bride.</p><p>However, she knew better than to bore him with defensive praise for Violet. His interest in Violet was rapidly waning, both in the studio and in their bedroom. A year ago, nothing used to get him going like hearing how much Violet loved to be teased, tied-up and spanked—especially after she’d given him a rough time—but now that her <em>singular moxie </em>was impeding business, and becoming boring, he’d started asking more about Trixie, who was so hungry for validation and so eager-to-please.</p><p>Thankfully, Katya behaved herself around Trixie, with nothing to report. She thought it best to keep it that way. After all, nothing would save Violet now other than a Hail-Mary hit in Ojai—and while Katya had all the faith in Violet’s talents as a musician, she wasn’t sure if anything short of a miracle would satisfy Karl now.</p><p>“Remember that night we sealed the deal? Violet had me believing I was gonna end up in bed with <em>both</em> of you. I was prepared to break my prick off in that pursuit. Instead, here we are, reaching critical mass,” he griped, hung up on that hopeless fantasy, “Miss Chachki tried to work an angle and cut herself on it. It might be good to let her bleed.”</p><p>If she weren’t trying to hide her cigarette, the cigarette she so desperately wanted to stick in her chimney, Katya would’ve bucked him off her back. Instead, she merely wiggled against him in a fuming facsimile of resistance. What did he know of Violet’s angles?</p><p>“You have absolutely <em>no</em> sympathy for her? None? <em>Zero</em>?”</p><p>“<em>Sympathy</em>?” He barked a laugh. “No. I don’t have sympathy for Violet. If her heart’s broken, her heart’s broken through no one’s fault but her own.”</p><p>Katya wanted to ask: <em>Well, what about my heart? </em>However, that was a dangerous path to travel at 2 o’clock in the morning and a dead end argument to boot. As he’d reminded her: Her heart was collateral, a banged-up loaner, and its direction wasn’t entirely hers to govern anymore. It was the price she’d agreed to pay.</p><p>She pressed herself closer against him. “Aren’t you going to miss your bedtime story, <em>kozyol</em>?”</p><p>“There will be other stories, I’m sure,” he said, relaxing into her, embracing her, breathing against her, his hands running down her shoulders, “...You’ve been like a statue this whole time, Katya. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stay this still.”</p><p>Involuntarily, her hand tightened over the hidden cigarette.</p><p>“What’ve you got there?”</p><p>And now the jig was up.</p><p>Sighing, Katya flipped her hand to reveal the bent Marlboro and the lighter. Right in front of her, Karl snapped the smoke in half. Its amber guts spilled onto the island. Then he grabbed hard at her ass. Katya stared down at the flakes of tobacco like a dog about to be shoved into its own shit.</p><p>“I found one tucked beneath the keyboard in my office the other day. You have them squirreled away all over the house.”</p><p>“Yes, and you have been <em>crushing</em> them all.”</p><p>“Have you been smoking, Katya?”</p><p>“No,” she said, insulted he would ask, “No! Not one.”</p><p>“I could kiss you and find out, you know.”</p><p>“Yes? Go ahead,” she challenged, tipping her chin to look him in the eye.</p><p>Though he glanced at her lips, Karl conceded, giving her bottom an apologetic pat.</p><p>“I...like to stare at them and pretend,” she confessed as he returned the bourbon to the cabinet. “I know it’s silly. Quitting like this is very hard, you know.”</p><p>“Yes. I do. I broke the habit nearly twenty years ago..”</p><p>“Yes. I know, I know! Good for you. It is <em>very</em> impressive!” She slammed the heel of her hand against the countertop, her tennis bracelet twinkling. He smiled, finding her outburst more amusing than anything.</p><p>“I know you’re scared, honey,” Karl said, very patiently, “It’s alright to be scared, but I <em>am</em> here for you. Remember, I’ve been through this twice before.....”</p><p>“Oh, yes? You have? You have had something living? Growing? <em>Gestating</em> inside you?”</p><p>“I had a nasty tapeworm in ‘93,” he replied without hesitation, which actually made her laugh, and then he laughed, “You’re right. There’s no comparison.”</p><p>“No shit,” she sighed, finding the whole ordeal mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually, and <em>psychically </em>taxing already. God, The Creature Feature was barely the size of a bean!</p><p>She’d never wanted children before. Then again, no one ever <em>wanted</em> to have children with her before either. (Dimitri was absolutely petrified of knocking her up. He needed to protect his lifestyle, which depended on her paying the bills by looking fuckable on camera.)</p><p>It was the family vacation to Greece. That’s what did her in. Or a few weeks later when Karl accompanied her to Japan. She'd gotten carried away with his constant company—and he was so much easier when he was away from LA, when he wasn’t King of the Leeches, thinking about money and the slew of stubborn starlets he wanted to hatefuck to celebrity. So, Katya stopped taking the pills on a whim and then later told him so in Japan, right smack-dab in the middle of the nasty, and...Yes. That was the time it stuck. She was sure of it now.</p><p>A heavy silence fell over the kitchen.</p><p>Karl looked at her for a long time.</p><p>“I haven’t told a soul, Katya, and it’s still early days,” he began quietly, and she could hear the reservation in his voice, “So. If you decide you would rather…?”</p><p>“No,” she said very adamantly, “Spitters are quitters, Karl. I said I would do it. I will do it. The Creature Feature is here to stay.”</p><p>“Good,” he said, grinning with relief, then chuckling, “<em>Spitters are quitters</em>, Christ alive…That makes me very happy, Katya. Very happy. Look, I will help you. Ginger will help you. Just please don’t smoke. That’s all I ask.”</p><p>“My <em>matushka</em> smoked—and drank. Heavily,” she said, pointing at him, “And I turned out fine.”</p><p>“You turned out perfect.”</p><p>“Ugh.” She made a face. “Okay. Yes. I promise. I have not smoked and I will not smoke.”</p><p>“Alright, gorgeous, come on then,” he said, wandering off and turning the lights, leaving her no other choice, “Back to bed.”</p><p>Left in the dark, Katya swept the tobacco into her palm and sprinkled it into the sink. She sparked the Zippo just to snap it shut again, whipping the lighter into the junk drawer. She wanted to scream. Instead, for the first time since she’d heard the news, Katya laid a hand on her bare belly, as hesitant as touching fire, as if The Creature Feature would burn her palm raw.</p><p>But nothing hurt.</p><p>Even the fear evaporated as her fingers grazed her own warm skin, circling around her navel.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Glass Houses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Packed in her nuts n’ bolts Volkswagen with her guitar and way-too-many clothes, Trixie left Malibu for Ojai early Monday morning. Many moons ago, she’d driven from Wisconsin to California in this very clunker. She figured the drive to Ojai would be an absolute cinch in comparison.</p><p>However, the six-car-pile-up on The 101, and the resulting gridlock, dashed that sunny optimism. Then, after stopping for gas, she noticed a sweet-smelling leak beneath the carriage of her car—and after waiting another forty-five at the station, she topped off the coolant and hoped her engine wouldn’t overheat before she reached the valley. In Wisconsin, her little bug pulverized a whitetail at 40mph and survived. Yet, after only a couple years bussing across LA, her car was fully disintegrating with every city mile.</p><p>Sounded about right.</p><p>She’d spent so much of her money on the house, and <em>keeping</em> the house, she’d decided to forgo a new car. She thought the next album would cover that expense….What was the word? <em>Hubris</em>?</p><p>So her one hour trip to Ojai started looking like four, and she was understandably cranky about it, until she began winding along the serpentine roads and lush rolling hills of Ojai. She drove past olive groves and lavender fields, cruising past spa after spa after spa. The balmy air felt so good to breathe, as if it were vitamin-enriched for her lungs.</p><p>The wind whooshed through her open windows, whipping her ponytail all over the place. She really couldn’t figure out what Violet hated about it other than the necessity of being there. </p><p>By early afternoon, Trixie arrived at the luxe lodgehouse (all glass and wood) tucked away in the summertime slopes of the national park. Driving up, Trixie could make out a dark-haired figure sitting at a white piano. A familiar Audi was parked between the pylons. </p><p>She trudged her guitar case and carry-on up the stairs onto the porch landing. Through the expansive windows, she watched Violet play a soulful (but melancholy) tune that Trixie hadn’t yet heard. Her fingers were intermittent, still working the stanzaic melody; but when she hit the chorus, she hit her stride and began to sing: </p><p>
  <em>So they say, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Once bitten,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Twice shy</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But here I am</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Always wishing on </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Unlucky stars in the sky</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Once bitten, twice shy</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tell me, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Will I hate you tomorrow,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>if you kiss me tonight?</em>
</p><p>She stopped abruptly and shook her head, slipping the pencil from behind her ear to mark the sheet music. Trixie took the opportunity to dig for the copied house-key and made her entrance. Violet spun around on the bench, watching Trixie struggle with her luggage through the open door. </p><p>After Trixie caught her breath and pushed back her hair: “That sounded good, Vi!”</p><p>“It’s not finished,” Violet responded flatly.</p><p>“It still sounded good.”</p><p>“It will. The lyrics need work.”</p><p>“Do you wanna—?” Trixie nudged her guitar case. “We can workshop it?”</p><p>“No,” Violet said, sounding bored as she slipped off the bench, “I was just about to take a break anyway.”</p><p>Mounted beside the door, there were several framed photographs boasting of Karl’s past success stories: the girls of Rolaskatox, and Alaska solo, the rap stars of The Pit Crew, among others. Trixie wondered if they too had toiled a summer away at this luxurious home-away-from-home. Their smiles reassured her: These were only growing pains leading to bigger and better things.</p><p>Dragging her luggage a few more feet, Trixie stopped to marvel at the rest of the lodge: the massive windows and high ceilings, the bright wood floors and pebblestone fireplace, all the stylish modern decor. A flight of brushed-steel stairs lead to the lofted second-floor. It had none of the kitschy ostentation of the house in Beverly Hills, and the acoustics were fantastic.</p><p>“Wow. These are nice digs.”</p><p>“I know, right? They’ve got a booth on the ground floor, too.” Violet removed a kettle from the range. “What happened to <em>bright and early</em>? I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show—or you’d died.”</p><p>“You’re not that lucky."</p><p>Violet offered her a mug and Trixie nodded, curling her hands around the wafting lemon-ginger. It was best for the pipes even though the tea itself tasted like dishwater. </p><p>“So, Vi, how long have you been holding out on me?” </p><p>“Like you don’t have music you’re keeping from me.”</p><p>“I don’t! I haven’t written a single composition. At least you’ve <em>got</em> something. That’s a start.”</p><p>“Karl’s gonna hate it anyway,” Violet said, adding with venom, “It’s not <em>catchy </em>enough.”</p><p>Sipping her tea Trixie shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. He can use it to pad the album.”</p><p>Violet scowled. “Whatever. Forget it.”</p><p>Having offended her already, Trixie sighed and abandoned her tea, returning to her luggage. Whenever Violet shut her down like that, she usually wasn’t interested in picking up anything else. There was no use groveling for her cooperation. Besides, Trixie wasn’t interested in doing all that anymore. She was sick of it, honestly. </p><p>“Bedrooms are upstairs,” Violet informed her, once again spectating while Trixie huffed and puffed with her overstuffed bags, “You’ve got the guest room. Sorry.”</p><p>She didn’t sound sorry at all.</p><p>Eventually, Trixie got her stuff up there. She flung it all on the giant bed at the center of the lovely simplistic bedroom. On the bedside table, a single white rose stood proud in a steel vase. (A housekeeper must have breezed through in anticipation of their arrival.) The floor-to-ceiling windows led out onto a cozy balcony, overlooking the trees with a gorgeous view of Ojai’s rolling hills. </p><p>Within two hours, she’d unpacked her guitar, hung some of her clothes, and arranged her toiletries and makeup in the en-suite bathroom.</p><p>Bouncing down on the bed, Trixie fell back and stretched out. The mattress was even better than home. Shutting her eyes, she curled up in anticipation of a quick afternoon catnap when the door swung open and Violet barged through. Trixie sat up.</p><p>“Um! Hello? Knock?”</p><p>Violet notched her hands at her waist. “What, are you diddling yourself or something? C’mon. Get dressed and look cute. We’re going out, bitch.”</p><p>Slumping, Trixie motioned toward her guitar. “We’re supposed to be—”</p><p>“It’s a business dinner, Trixie, not a date. We’ll talk strategy.”</p><p>“Alright, fine,” she relented, though it didn’t take much convincing. A cozy night in? With Violet? Sharing chicken noodle soup and watching television? That sounded like hell on earth.  </p><p>“Do you have anything to wear that <em>isn’t</em> pink?” </p><p>Trixie crossed her arms. “What’s wrong with pink?”</p><p>“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with water either, until you’re hosing gallons of it down a war criminal’s throat.”</p><p>Surprised, Trixie laughed. “Okay, that is <em>dark</em>.”</p><p>“You’re not the only one who can say shocking things for attention.”</p><p>“Also rude.”</p><p>Violet smiled. “Seriously, do you have anything other than pink?”</p><p>“Um.” Trixie actually had to think about it. “...Yellow?”</p><p>“So, the ugliest color. Cool.”</p><p>“Yellow isn’t ugly!”</p><p>“Yellow is hideous, Trixie,” Violet said, as if it were stone-cold fact. </p><p>For half a second, Trixie believed her.</p><p>A little later, as Trixie whisked on a second layer of blush, Violet announced their car’s arrival. She didn’t comment on Trixie’s little sweater dress, or the fact it was mostly white, or Hervé Leger, but Trixie took her silent appraisal as a good sign. </p><p>Silent in the back of their Uber, Trixie watched the dusky sky turn to strawberry milk before it dipped into darkness and they dipped into town, stopping at a trendy little lounge called The Teahouse. </p><p>Violet led her inside and they sat at a secluded little table with a good view of the live band plucking away at their mellow cellos. </p><p>“Usually, when I’m feeling blocked, I go dancing and sweat it out,” Violet said.

</p><p>“Get loose and shake up the juice. Whatever works."</p><p>“Looks like this place is as close as I’m gonna get in healthy, wholesome Ojai,” Violet said, petulantly perching her chin on her fist.</p><p>As many times as they’d conferred over the past year, Trixie and Violet were never able to overcome the awkward silence that always preceded their first round. However, this time around, it persisted right through half of their wine. They both watched the band, waiting for something to grab them.</p><p>Trixie was getting frustrated. Violet seemed so quiet, so remote. She waited for a pause in “Fly Me to the Moon,” to speak up.</p><p>“Hey. Vi.”</p><p>Immediately, Violet twisted around. “Trixie, do you think Katya’s moving to Japan?”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?” Shaken, Trixie’s heart dropped into her stomach. “W-what makes you say that?”</p><p>“At the party. We went into her studio and everything was packed up. I asked her about it, but...she never actually gave me an answer.”</p><p>“She’s good at that,” Trixie murmured, feeling a pit cratering in her stomach. </p><p>“But she hasn’t said anything to you?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Violet nodded, apparently comforted by Trixie’s total ignorance of the thing. </p><p>“Karl would never move to Japan full-time,” Trixie babbled, trying to work out the knot, “Maybe they’re just moving her studio into Alyssa’s old bedroom or something.”</p><p>“Yeah. Maybe,” Violet said, drinking more wine, then she smirked, “You should’ve seen your face. You looked like you were ‘bout to shit a brick. Your eyes were all….”</p><p>In a piss-poor imitation, Violet bugged her eyes and reared back in her seat, mouth agape. She snickered into her glass. </p><p>“You said: <em>Moving to Japan</em>, bitch, and she’s like...my only friend. I was shook. Deadass.”</p><p>Violet laughed again, a dribble of red wine escaping her lips. She licked it up, holding up a finger. “First, don’t ever say ‘shook’ or ‘deadass’ ever again. Trixie, you’re like thirty.”</p><p>“I’m twenty-six!”</p><p>“That’s thirty,” Violet said, before she shrugged, “...and what do you mean she’s your only friend? What about your hot cousin?”</p><p>Remembering her argument with Max, Trixie rolled her eyes. “Pearl’s family. She doesn’t count.”</p><p>“That’s stupid. Why do you think that? Do you know how many people fucking hate their families?”</p><p>She smiled. “No, yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Fully.”</p><p>Shock of the century: They actually agreed on something. Also shocking: Trixie couldn’t believe how comforted, and relieved, she felt sharing an opinion with her. Common ground. A step in the right direction.</p><p>Violet filled their glasses again. “How’s the breakup treating you?”</p><p>Trixie shrugged. “I don’t know. Okay, I guess.”</p><p>“Okay? You guess?”</p><p>“We just never...I don’t know. I don’t think I ever felt anything deep. It felt like a rebound, even though I wasn’t rebounding from anything,” Trixie admitted, “Pearl set us up and I just thought I’d give it a shot and see what happened.”</p><p>Violet lifted an accusing eyebrow. “She was <em>all over </em>your socials, Trix.”</p><p>“Yeah, because she was insanely jealous over the stupidest things and posting pics of us calmed her down,” she explained, “And I also thought maybe if I projected it out into the universe enough, it’d be like clapping Tinkerbelle to life and one day, I’d wake up and be totally in love with her and it’d be alright. Hunky-dory.”</p><p>“Oh my God, do you still play MASH too?”</p><p>“Shut up,” Trixie said, tucking some of her hair, “I just wish I had felt something really real, y’know? Then maybe I could pull a song from<em>something</em>.”</p><p>She’d barely cried over Max. She barely felt anything at all but the deadened disappointment of things not turning out the way she imagined while the weight of the album pressed her down into total numbness. She didn’t want yoga and meditation anymore. She wanted to drink. She’d been drinking more, and eating less to compensate, fiending for tokes to take off the edge. Nothing helped, yet she kept doing <em>Nothing</em> more. </p><p>Violet played with her cocktail napkin, nudging it back and forth. “Can I ask you a <em>real </em>question?”</p><p>Trixie took another healthy sip from her glass. “Shoot.”</p><p>“You’re not still into her, right?”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>Violet glared at her. There was only one <em>Her</em> between the two of them. </p><p>“No, Violet,” Trixie sighed, because she’d had to reiterate this a thousand times, “It was a stupid little crush. I’m over it. She’s over it. We kissed twice. That was it.”</p><p>“<em>Twice</em>?”</p><p>Oh. Shit. </p><p>Suddenly, Violet looked so much younger, caught off-guard, as if one wrong word would make her burst into tears or strike Trixie across the face. She looked teenage raw—and it was so fucked up that Trixie envied her for that too. </p><p>“It was nothing,” Trixie blurted as damage control, “Vi. It was stupid.”</p><p>Her dark searching eyes suddenly hardened over like black ice, demanding. “When?”</p><p>“The rehearsal for the showcase, last year,” Trixie said carefully, bombarded with the long-repressed memory of climbing onto the hood of Katya’s car to watch the strawberry moon, and kissing her, and kissing her, and <em>kissing her</em>, “I started it. She stopped it, okay? She wanted you. I got over it.”</p><p>Katya wanted Violet. Karl wanted Violet. Everyone wanted Violet.</p><p>Trixie had stopped thinking about that evening on Mulholland. She’d locked it away. She couldn’t think about Katya rejecting her, because her rejection still stung the worst. It had precluded all the rest: Karl divorcing her from her own song, then divorcing her from her own success. She couldn’t think about it because the more time she'd spend with Katya, the more Trixie would wonder <em>why</em> she preferred Violet to her. (Was it her superior looks? Her superior conversation? Her superior talent?) </p><p>It would ruin everything.  </p><p>“I don’t want to talk about her anymore. All we do is talk about her,” Violet stated, her voice flimsy with pain as she drank more wine and stared blankly at the band again.</p><p>Trixie sighed, maybe too long, maybe too loud, because Violet got up with a curt, “I’m going to the bar,” and then stayed there.</p><p>Violet wasn’t coming back. </p><p>So much for common ground. Theirs must cross a ley line or something.</p><p>Nursing the rest of her glass, Trixie tapped her nails along to the music until she saw a girl cross the lounge to approach Violet at the bar. A fan. She had the eyes: too open, too hyper, too adoring. After a couple more minutes, during which Trixie poured the last of their white Zinf, she was almost sure this groupie could nurse Violet’s bruised ego back to full strength. </p><p>Trixie signaled for their bill, shot Violet a text that went unread, and called for a car. She left the lounge without anyone noticing and crawled into the backseat of a heavily perfumed sedan. </p><p>Violet was completely pissed and still about to get laid while she was riding back to the lodge, tipsy and completely alone, watching soap-cutters on Instagram. She couldn’t think of a better way to start their magical month together.</p><p>#</p><p>Several hours later, Violet gripped the banister for dear life as she stumbled up the stairs back to the lodge.</p><p>She jammed the key in the front door and waltzed through, slamming it shut with her heel before teetering over to the couch. She flopped down and groaned, sinking into the cushions. She was a little drunk, but perfectly okay, considering Trixie’s little revelation and her awkward, fumbling make-out session with that fan at The Teahouse. </p><p>She totally regretted it. Not only was revenge kissing totally high school pointless, the girl wasn’t even a fan of <em>her </em>work. All night, she'd puffed Violet up over songs Trixie wrote: “Summertime Girl,” “Flower Dive,” and “Strawberry (fucking) Moon.” All of Trixie's songs were more popular. Not better, Violet reminded herself, more popular—with no accounting for taste. Wasn’t she good enough on her own? Obviously not if she needed a fucking ghost writer. She knew she was enough. So, why <em>wasn’t</em> she enough?</p><p>Violet rolled over onto her stomach, toeing off her stilettos. </p><p>Trixie was right: It was just a stupid kiss. Besides, Violet always wondered what had propelled Katya to show up at her apartment that night, all sweet and assuring and contrite. At least Katya believed in her. At least her favorite songs off the album were “Follies,” “East Thistle Drive,” and “Charm Bracelet” instead of Trixie’s cutesy dreck. At least Katya knew how to kiss her, unlike Miss Barfly Superfan.</p><p>Violet missed her.</p><p>With some effort, she focused and reached for her clutch on the floor, grabbing her phone. She scrolled to Katya’s name, opening the conversation. Her clumsy fingers tappity-tapped against the screen: <em>I need y</em></p><p>No. Wait. She rapid-fire erased, taptaptaptap, starting over.</p><p>
  <em>i want you here</em>
</p><p>
  <em>trixso so annoying lol</em>
</p><p>
  <em>coem visit me soon. &lt;3</em>
</p><p>Perfect. Send.</p><p>With a clumsy pull, Violet let her hair down. She snuggled deep into the pillow, waiting for those three dots to appear on screen. Then the front door creaked open. Propping herself up, Violet watched Katya trip over the threshold, swinging a leather bag and righting herself with a little, “Oomph, <em>shit</em>.”</p><p>Speak of the Devil and here she appears.That was fast. Like, really fast. Too fast. Like five-minutes fast. Was she really <em>that</em> drunk? How much time had passed? Bleary-eyed, Violet glanced at her phone, then at Katya. </p><p>Nope. She really just showed up out of nowhere, exactly when Violet wanted her to, like a wish upon a star.</p><p>Katya looked comfortable, dressed in leggings and sneakers and a cute little hoodie. She wore no makeup and her long hair was crimped and frizzy, as if air-drying after a shower. She caught sight of Violet laid out on the couch, straightened up, and smiled.</p><p>“You look hot,” Violet mumbled. </p><p>“Are you drunk?”</p><p>“A little.”</p><p>“A lot-tle,” Katya chuckled, setting down her keys and her bag.</p><p>She joined her on the couch, lifting an accommodating arm as Violet flipped around and rested her head on Katya’s shoulder. Violet curled her legs inward and wrapped her heavy arms around the blonde’s middle. Katya gently combed her hair from her face. It felt so good, like full-body-shudder and gone-to-heaven-good. Violet never snuggled when she was sober. She liked the safe excuse of being drunk and over-sentimental and needing someone to love her for a little while.</p><p>Katya’s fingernails grazed her scalp. “You two went out?”</p><p>“Yeah. It sucked. She’s ‘sleep upstairs.” Violet held up her phone, swaying with a limp grip. “I just tes-test-texsted you to come. How are you here so fast?”</p><p>“I teleported,” Katya whispered, before self-doubt crossed her face, “I was on my way already. I decided to come early. The<em> first night</em> early….” </p><p>Violet sat up, her cheeks heating at Katya’s shy shrug. “You wan-wanped to surprise me?”</p><p>She grimaced, embarrassed. “I did not think the idea all the way through.”</p><p>Hyper-aware of her heavy limbs, Violet slowly straddled her. She was only dizzy for a spell before she started playing with Katya’s hair. “No, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted you here.”</p><p>She couldn’t say if Katya looked at her with love or pity, smiling softly as she smoothed and fixed Violet’s dress so she wouldn’t ruin anything with her carelessness. Finishing her messy braid of Katya’s hair, Violet reached down to squeeze the blonde’s waist. She leaned in, wanting very much to kiss her. She wanted to add another stupid-wonderful-nothing kiss to the hundreds of stupid-wonderful-nothing kisses that Trixie didn’t share with her.</p><p>“One should not kiss drunk girls,” Katya rumbled.</p><p>Usually, true.</p><p>With hooded eyes, Violet cupped her face. </p><p>“If you won’t kiss me,” she said, “I’ll just kiss you.”</p><p>Violet’s kiss was heavy, deep. Her head spun with the sensation of Katya’s plush lips and her warm grip on Violet’s waist—but her own mouth got messy and sluggish with all her want and all the wine chased by tequila sunrises.</p><p>Katya wrenched her head away with wide blinking eyes and a grimacing, “Ooomph, you are <em>drunk</em>.” </p><p>Violet pouted, then leaned forward again, but Katya pushed her fingers against her mouth.</p><p>“Stop,” she said. </p><p>Violet licked her fingertip instead. </p><p>She wanted to go upstairs with her, forget about the album and Trixie, the pressure and the drama, and the whole of reality outside the feel and flavor of Katya’s skin. Though she smiled up at her, Katya pulled her finger out of Violet’s mouth. She returned her hand to Violet’s thigh. </p><p>“Did you two write anything?”</p><p>Ugh. Violet threw her head over her shoulder, where it seemed to droop. She stared daggers at the white piano gleaming in the moonlight.</p><p>“What if I don’t come up with anything, Katya?” She tugged on Katya’s new braid with a frustrated whine. </p><p>“Ideas come from empty space,” she purred, “In the shower. On a walk. Late at night. Give it time.” </p><p>“I have been giving it time!”</p><p>She bounced on Katya’s legs. “All we’ve been doing is giving it time. And there’s s-s-nothing to use. There’s nothing I can use.” </p><p>Katya took her hand, steadying Violet as she pulled them both off the couch. Wobbling, Violet clutched at her. Katya guided her toward the stairs.</p><p>“Give tomorrow a chance,” Katya murmured against her hair.</p><p>“Carry me,” she laughed, trying to coax Katya into giving her a piggy-back ride, but she kept slapping her kicking legs. So Violet hung over her like a pelt, wanting to touch all of her, warm her up. She felt just as lifeless and indulgent as Katya dragged her into the master. </p><p>Stumbling over to the bed, Violet climbed onto the mattress with a giggle. She wiggled her ass until Katya rolled her eyes, patting her forward. Violet collapsed into the linens. Inhaling the crisp-clean smell, she rolled over on her back as Katya turned down the covers. Violet reached for her, dragging Katya onto the California king. </p><p>She sucked on Katya’s earlobe, tasting the gold of the small hoop piercing, but Katya ignored her. She delicately arranged Violet’s body, mindful of the Givenchy as she tried to pull it off her. Violet slipped her hand beneath Katya’s leggings and grabbed at her tight ass, snapping her thin underwear. Katya batted her hand away. </p><p>“You are making this difficult,” she grunted.</p><p>“Well, I am difficult,” Violet giggled, holding her dress ransom in her fist, “Thas what Karl calls me. Why aren’t you more difficult? Thas what I wanna know.”</p><p>“Violet,” she warned, hanging her head, “Please let go of the dress.”</p><p>Violet released it. Katya slid the garment down her legs and bounced off the bed to hang it in the closet. She adjusted her new wedgie as she shuffled across the room. </p><p>“Trixie told me some fucked up shit,” Violet said to her back. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Shes said she tried it wisth you after the rehearsal. Kissed you,” Violet said, unhooking her bra and flinging it over her head.  </p><p>“Yes, it happened.”</p><p>“You didn’t tell me.”</p><p>“No,” Katya said, popping her leg to pull off a sneaker, “That was for Trixie to tell.”</p><p>She squirmed around on the sheets, clicking her nail against her nipple ring. “I dunno. You could’ve told me.”</p><p>Katya smiled at her, pulling her sweatshirt over her head. Her blonde hair spilled out over her pale back, the spandex of her sports bra.</p><p> “And let you use it as ammunition over brunch? No. She says you are mean to her already.”</p><p>“I am mean to her,” Violet laughed, her eyes heavy as Katya wiggled her hips and peeled her yoga pants off her long legs, “I can’t <em>hhhelp</em> it, she’s so….”</p><p>She trailed off with a breath, watching Katya run her fingers along her ass and beneath the hem of her panties. </p><p>Drunk as she was, Violet wasn’t even sure why she brought it up. So what? Who cares? Trixie said it was nothing. It was nothing. Violet kissed people, Beautiful Industry People, all the time. She kissed some Rando just a few hours ago. </p><p><em>Finger the girl before you have an existential crisis over it….</em>The thought boomeranged around to haunt her. </p><p>Katya unraveled the soutache Violet made of her hair and pulled the waves up into a scrunchie for bed. Then she disappeared into the en-suite bathroom. The light from inside glowed around the doorframe. Violet had never seen Katya dress for bed before: brush her teeth, wash her face, lotion her skin. </p><p>She rolled around to stare out the windows at the gorgeous vista. She saw the nearly-naked reflection of herself melting amongst the trees and the blue-veiled hills, under the stars. She breathed so deep, she could’ve fallen asleep, but she got hornier instead. </p><p>Slipping her fingers beneath the slip of her panties, she fumbled around with herself, rubbing slow and heavy. She could hear the sound of her wet fingers against her rotating hips, the staccato puffs of her breath.</p>

<p>When Katya returned, she didn’t react. She climbed into bed wearing white from tit-to-toe. Bulky white socks capped her bare legs. In the moonlight, Violet could see the impression of her little red nipples through the stretch fabric, the delta of her pussy. She looked like a girl postered to the sweating walls of dorm-rooms, plastered in locker rooms for inspiration. </p><p>“Do you always look like a Calvin Klein commercial when you go to sleep?” </p><p>“I usually sleep naked,” Katya chuckled, and Violet couldn’t help but sigh, “Keep your hands to yourself. I am not helping you with that.”</p><p>“I’d be doing this even if you weren’t here,” she breathed, scratching at the lace of her panties until her hips shuddered.</p><p>“Mmhm.” Katya tucked into the covers, turning away from her. “Go to sleep.”</p><p>Violet took her sweet time, dipping a finger into her tortured wet-hot pussy only to pull away, rustling and panting and hoping to annoy Katya trying to sleep beside her.</p><p>Eventually, it worked. </p><p>Katya whipped her head around on the pillow and watched her with an admonishing glare.</p><p>“I wanna fuck,” Violet whined, laughing through a moan, because that was obvious and she was drunk.</p><p>“I will take care of you in the morning.”</p><p>“I don’t need you in the morning, I need you now,” Violet whined again, not expecting her to give in. </p><p>But suddenly, Katya’s lips crashed against her own and her fingers slipped past the gusset of her panties to take over. Violet clawed into the hair at the base of Katya’s neck, holding her close as she choked on a moan. Violet’s eyes fluttered closed, drugged with sensation, flooded with feeling <em>good</em>. Katya sucked a kiss onto her collarbone and then the curve of her little tit.</p><p>Violet kept a grip on Katya’s hair even as her other hand fell away and her hips stopped pumping, her body overcome with the warm syrupy call to sleep.</p><p>Katya’s fingers slid away, and so did her kisses. </p><p>“I hooked up...with a girl...at the bar,” Violet said, still holding her. She felt Katya’s cheek hot against hers, her breath tickling her ear.</p><p>“Did she disappoint you?” Her voice sounded rougher in a whisper, like velvet brushed backward. It made her shiver.</p><p>“Everyone disdappoints me,” Violet slurred softly, her words weighty on her tongue.</p><p>Katya kissed her neck before completely melting away, receding to her side of the bed. </p><p>“Katya, are you mad at me?”</p><p>“No,” Katya said, nuzzling into her pillow. </p><p>“I wish you were mad,” Violet hissed, watching the spinning cherry-wood whorls in the ceiling, like Jupiter’s eye caught in a kaleidoscope, “I wish you....”</p><p>She trailed off as the pattern dizzied her and her head nodded to the side again. </p><p>Against her pillow, Katya watched her with sparkling eyes and a kind of pout, as if she might cry—but why should Katya cry? </p><p>Katya had her on strings, the toy who liked to be toyed with, right up to the point of breaking—and something was breaking, Violet was sure, but she saw no reason Katya should cry.</p><p>Then her eyes drifted shut, her body already humming, and Violet thought of nothing else but sleep and fell straight into it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Strawberry Skies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Trixie awoke to noises from down the hall: Unmistakably vulgar, unmistakably Violet. </p><p>She grabbed her phone from the bedside, groaned at 8:00 AM, and crushed one of the pillows over her ears. So much for sleeping in. There was no way she could return to sugarplum fairies in dreamland with Violet getting railed next door. </p><p>Actually, Trixie was surprised that Stephanie Superfan had it in her, that she’d actually slept over, and—from the passionate rhythm of the bed-frame against the wall—that she’d just-so-happened to tuck a strap-on into her purse the evening before. Go figure.</p><p>God, she hated life right now.</p><p>Trixie wiggled into some fleece, grabbed her notebook and guitar, and figured she’d get an early start while Violet finished her playdate. </p><p>Outside her door, the sounds echoed through the lodge, amplified by those engineered acoustics. All those breathy ‘oh, gods’ bounced around the ceiling like hymns in a cathedral, like desperate dirty prayers, and Trixie’s keen ears distinguished the wet smack of silicone as it dragged out and pushed back inside her. </p><p>Ugh. </p><p>She should’ve grabbed her headphones, too. </p><p>Sneaking past Violet’s door, Trixie froze when she noticed it slightly ajar, the flurry of movement going still. </p><p>Breathing hard, Violet clutched at the platinum blonde grinning over the tip of her breast with a nibble of white-white teeth. Trixie’s brain short-circuited for a second. Her heart pummeled at her ribs as the blonde’s dewy face turned toward the door, and Trixie scurried down the stairs before she could be seen.</p><p>God, the more things change, the more they stay the same, huh?</p><p>On tiptoes, Trixie rushed to the windows; and sure enough, Katya’s white Porsche sat parked in the gravel next to her own car. </p><p>With shaky hands, Trixie fumbled with the French press before giving up and rushing outside. She power-walked across the porch and flopped down on one of the swings, arranging her things around her as if she’d been preoccupied for hours. </p><p>What the hell was Katya doing here?</p><p>Trixie tapped her pen against her notebook. </p><p>It was none of her business. </p><p>Literally none of her business.</p><p>Why didn’t she tell her she was coming though?</p><p>Was this the real reason why Violet gave in to Karl? To have a romantic rendezvous with her married girlfriend? How long was Katya staying? Did Violet plan on writing any music with Trixie at all?</p><p>And okay, for real: <em>Was</em> Katya actually moving to Japan?</p><p>She felt way too emotionally conflicted for eight o’clock in the morning, unable to reconcile the unexpected happiness of seeing her best friend with the disappointment of seeing her rolling around in bed with Violet. </p><p>Because of the music, of course.  </p><p>Because of the work.</p><p>Trixie cuddled up, crossed her legs, and reached for her guitar. Writing music used to be so cathartic. It used to feel so good. So, what happened? She couldn’t play, so she felt like shit, and she felt like shit because she couldn’t play. It reminded her of the catch-22 weight gain warnings trailing antidepressant ads—which, speaking of, she’d been meaning to investigate….</p><p>Staring at the trees, Trixie started strumming ‘Strawberry Moon,’ which sounded so much better on the strings of her guitar than the synth and drum accompaniment of the official track. She took it slow, thinking of possible arrangements, complementary harmonies. Once she hit the chorus, she switched up the key and veered off track with a different melody altogether, which was very encouraging until she realized she was just playing a different version of the same fucking song. </p><p>Trixie pushed the guitar aside. She flipped the cover of her empty notebook. </p><p>When the front door opened, Katya poked her head out. Seeing Trixie, she grinned.</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>Trixie smiled. “Hey, you.”</p><p>Katya stepped bare-footed outside, wrapped in an oversized sherpa and clutching two mugs of hot coffee. The steam caught on the crisp morning breeze. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair all bedraggled. </p><p>Trixie made room for her on the swing, sipping the proffered coffee. She hummed. It was just how she liked it: a splash of milk with a suggestion of sugar. </p><p>“Did we wake you?”</p><p>Trixie shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s okay.”</p><p>“I am sorry.” Katya said, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders, “Did you see anything dirty this time?”</p><p>“Like you? Dick-deep in my writing partner?” Trixie laughed. “No, not really. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”</p><p>“You would have heard me if you’d stuck around a little longer.”</p><p>“Ew.”</p><p>“I thought you might get mad.”</p><p>“Why, because you’re crashing our <em>super fun</em> slumber party?” Trixie’s smile deepened, answering on Katya’s face. “I’m always happy to see you, Kat, you know that. Are you...okay?”</p><p>“Are <em>you</em>? Have you heard from Max at all?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“I’m really...I’m fine with it,” Trixie propped her guitar against the porch railing. “Can I tell you something though? Promise not to laugh.”</p><p>“With you?” Katya nudged her shoulder. “I will not promise that.”</p><p>Trixie blushed. “Me and Max. We, like, never had sex. Like almost never.”</p><p>She furrowed her brow. “But you told me—?”</p><p>“I lied, okay?” Trixie swept back her hair. “She wasn’t into it. Or...me, I guess. It felt like it was because of me.”</p><p>“Some people are just like that, Trixie.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know, but whenever we did anything, it always felt like such a chore for her. A duty or something. Is that…?” She was going to regret asking, but…”Is that what it’s like with…?”</p><p>She didn’t want to say his name, like it would summon him.</p><p>“Karl?” </p><p>At Trixie’s hesitant nod, Katya sat back and contemplated the question for <em>forever</em>. </p><p>“Um,” she started, “Well. It is...uh....”</p><p>Regretting it, Trixie lifted a hand. </p><p>“Nevermind. Spare me the gory details. Forget I asked.”</p><p>Katya chuckled. “Probably best.”</p><p>Yawning, Katya stretched out her leg, curling her bare toes around the banister as she rocked their seat. Trixie made sure not to stare at all the bare skin, or the line of lean muscle in her calve, entertaining the very real possibility that she was bare-ass naked underneath the fluffy throw.</p><p>“It was not you,” Katya said resolutely, “You are the apple-cheeked, heart-assed milkmaid fantasy of every snaggle-toothed goat-fucker in the Alps. Do not ever forget it.”</p><p>She smiled at the off-kilter compliment, laughing when Katya suddenly pushed her foot off the porch railing and sent them swinging.</p><p>Trixie clutched the armrest. “How long are you staying? At least a couple days, right?”</p><p>“Of course,” she said brightly, “I heard you two needed <em>inspiration</em>.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Trixie cackled, shoving her shoulder. </p><p>Katya stuck out her tongue and laughed. </p><p>#</p><p>After Trixie took a morning shower, she found Violet seated at the kitchen island, peeling an orange and tapping her foot along to whatever blasted through her Air Pods. Katya, dressed in her fancy athleisure, burned her fingers on the toaster as she picked out a blackened Pop-Tart.</p><p>Trixie slid onto the stool next to Violet. “Aren’t you at all hungover?”</p><p>She pulled out an earbud. “I don’t <em>get</em> hungover, Beatrice.”</p><p>“You wait,” Katya advised, flinging the toaster pastry in the sink and sticking her burnt fingers in her mouth, “Time wilff comff for you tood.”</p><p>“I’d like to see it try,” Violet said with a shift of her shoulder, peeling off another juicy section of orange. </p><p>With a little smile, Violet swiveled back and forth on her stool, so <em>happy</em> and <em>pleasant</em> as she turned to Trixie, “Can you believe she eats those things? I watched her destroy a whole box once. It was disgusting.” </p><p>Katya curtsied before them, proud of her accomplishment.</p><p>“I can cook breakfast,” Trixie offered, “If you guys want.”</p><p>Violet drank some coffee. “You cook?”</p><p>Katya and Trixie spoke up in stereo: “I’m a great cook.” / “She is a great cook!”</p><p>Trixie shrugged. “Well, I mostly bake.”</p><p>Snickering, Violet pinched her fingers and mimed smoking. “Yeah, we know.”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>“I mostly blame your hot cousin for that habit.”</p><p>“Okay, you can stop referring to Pearl as my ‘hot cousin’ any time. Like any time.”</p><p>“Well, she is! Katya, don’t you think Pearl’s hot? You can say it.”</p><p>Both of them looked to her for an answer. Katya blanched for a second before shrugging.</p><p>“She...is a type,” she replied carefully. </p><p>“Yeah, <em>everyone’s</em>,” Violet said, “Anyway, it’s cool, Trixie. I ordered us a big spread from a local place. It should be here in thirty.”</p><p>“Wow. Thanks, Violet,” Trixie said, surprised at her generosity.</p><p>“We’re gonna need it today.”</p><p>Violet and Katya shared cryptic smiles. </p><p>Clearly, Trixie was out of the loop.</p><p>“We’re going on a vision quest, Beatrice. We’re gonna be a couple of merry pranksters.”</p><p>“What?” She was still so confused.</p><p>“Acid,” Violet said, losing patience, “Katya brought us tabs of <em>acid</em>.”</p><p>“What?!”</p><p>With a self-satisfied grin, Katya nodded. “It is true. I did. A gift from me to you.”</p><p>“We can go on the private hike,” Violet said, “Me and you.”</p><p>“We’re supposed to be writing music, Vi,” Trixie argued, “Not <em>doing drugs</em>.”</p><p>“Trixie....” </p><p>Violet sighed as if she were the most naive little bumpkin in the world, and even Trixie knew she sounded totally lame—but she’d never done something like that before! </p><p>Weed was one thing, even mushrooms didn’t sound so bad, because they were <em>natural</em>—but LSD was a whole other ball-game entirely, wasn’t it? Didn’t the government use it as a hyper-powered truth serum? Didn’t some CIA guy throw himself out a window because he thought he could fly? </p><p>“What if I, like, freak out or—?”</p><p>“It’s not like the movies,” Violet said, “You’re not gonna <em>see shit</em> that isn’t there.”</p><p>“Well,” Katya piped up, “The shadow people.”</p><p>Trixie’s eyes bugged. “Excuse me, the <em>shadow people</em>?!”</p><p>“Out of the corner of your eye. Maybe. Sometimes. It’s not a big deal, Trixie,” Violet huffed, “Calm down.”</p><p>Katya nodded along with Violet. </p><p>Trixie pointed at her. “You’re not—? Are <em>you—</em>?”</p><p>“Oh, no. No, no,” Katya said, holding up her palms, “I am going to babysit the house. Make sure you two are okay when you come back. Safe and sound.”</p><p>“Besides, I need Katya to feed Patrick.”</p><p>“Wait,” Trixie realized, eyes darting around the floor, “You brought your cat?”</p><p>“Duh,” Violet said, finishing off her orange. </p><p>As if on cue, the hairless sphynx jumped onto the counter and stared at Trixie with his big marble-like eyes. Flapping her hands, Katya shooed at him but Violet instead nestled him in her lap. She massaged the skin rippling down his spine, much to Patrick’s pleasure.</p><p>“It opens you up,” Violet said, still trying to convince her, “You see the world in a different way. You<em> feel</em> things. Weren’t you<em> just</em> saying how you—?”</p><p>“Yes! Okay,” Trixie said, shaking off her nerves, “Okay. Fine. But you have to promise if I get weird and start tweaking....”</p><p>“You won’t get weird,” Violet said confidently, the cat leaping from her lap, “But if you do, I’ve got you. I’ve done this before.”</p><p>Trixie looked at Katya, who again nodded along with Violet, encouraging her to try. </p><p>It could be good for them to bond a little, like a trust exercise, and Trixie was really-really curious how well Violet would fare on a trail, out in actual nature....</p><p>“What the hell,” Trixie said, shrugging, “Let’s take a trip then.”</p><p>#</p><p>Nervously, Trixie adjusted the straps of her mini backpack as the three of them stood at the entrance of the trail behind the lodge. Violet, dressed in a pair of itty-bitty shorts, consulted the map with Katya, who noticed Trixie’s unease as Violet folded it up and stuck it in her pack.</p><p>“It is not a difficult trail, Trixie” she said, “Everything is clearly marked, maintained. Karl had a ranger do a sweep a few days ago.”</p><p>Trixie nodded. “And how long is it?”</p><p>“The whole thing will take seven hours, give or take,” Violet said, breathing deep, “You ready?”</p><p>Trixie shifted her weight, scuffing her sneakers through the gravel. “Won’t we need, like, actual food though?”</p><p>They had plenty of water and she’d grabbed an energy bar on her way out, but….</p><p>Violet and Katya shared knowing glances again. </p><p>“You won’t be hungry,” Violet said, “Trust us. That’s what the breakfast was for.  You ready?”</p><p>Trixie took a deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be. I guess.”</p><p>She watched first as Katya pulled out her empty cigarette case and pressed her fingertip with a small paper square onto the flat of Violet’s waiting tongue. Then she approached Trixie, who grabbed her shoulder straps and leaned forward, following suit. </p><p>“Happy trails, honey,” Katya murmured out of Violet’s earshot, with a fond smile and a gentle squeeze to Trixie’s arm. </p><p>Trixie swished the paper around her mouth until it got mushy, tonguing the mushy tab toward her molars.Then Katya walloped her on the ass so hard she jumped forward a foot.</p><p>“Yee-haw!” </p><p>With that, they were off. Trixie followed Violet into the bright woods, leaving Katya and the house behind. </p><p>The two stuck to a dirt path laced with wildflowers and underbrush— big purple blue-witch blooms, clustered pods of snowberries, and delicate pink pea plants among them—and walked in silence for nearly an hour, appreciating the trilling birds and the steady cadence of their steps against the earth. It wasn’t a difficult walk and she wasn’t particularly hot; but all of a sudden, Trixie started sweating and sweating and <em>sweating</em>. She noticed the glistening moisture between Violet’s shoulder blades, down her lower back. She started laughing. </p><p>Out of nowhere. For no reason at all!</p><p>But it felt good.</p><p>Over her shoulder, Violet looked back at her with a giant grin. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Vi, I don’t know why I’m laughing.”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” she said, giggling until her eyes disappeared into her lashes, “It’s just hitting.”</p><p>With a surge of energy, Trixie skipped forward on the trail to walk alongside her, both of them giggling at nothing and sweating their tits off as the world went hypercolor goofy all around them.</p><p>The air tasted weird: textured, hot, almost metallic. She didn’t mind it, even though the taste lingered after she took a swig of her water bottle.</p><p>“It’s wild, right,” Violet said, her eyes wide with wonder, “You feel it?”</p><p>“I totally feel it,” Trixie laughed, “Yeah. It’s wild.”</p><p>She noticed the change in colors first, as if the universe had undergone artistic restoration, all brand new again. Everything glowed with pigment: the wildflowers, the gold motes dancing in the sunlight, the greens of the leaves as they swirled together in perfect design. Pink stalks of wild mint  appeared to grow in front of her, wiggling like anemones, as if caught in a time-lapse. It was beautiful, and strange, and not frightening at all.</p><p>“I timed it exactly right,” Violet said, without a hint of arrogance.</p><p>“Timed what?”
</p><p>“Can’t you hear it?”</p><p>Standing in silence, Trixie listened to the woods and heard rushing water in the distance. </p><p>Vaulting over a fallen log, Violet led her through an outcropping of rock, through a crevasse glittering with moisture. They emerged to a secluded glade and a pool of spring water nourished by a rumbling waterfall, which ran off into a creek that galloped across the forest floor. </p><p>As the cool spray misted her cheeks, Trixie shut her eyes and sighed. She lost herself in the pulsing shapes behind her eyelids. </p><p>“This is real pretty, Vi,” she murmured, swaying, before she was shocked upright seeing Violet stripping off her shorts. She tossed them in a pile with her socks and sneakers.</p><p>Violet’s underwear was like...barely a string...and that too slipped down her legs and went into the pile. Trixie tried not to look at her ass or Katya’s love-bite blooming on the right cheek—but then Violet took down her raven hair and started tugging at the straps of her sports bra and there was nowhere to look at all.</p><p>“Look at you <em>blushing</em>,” she said with a smile.</p><p>Before Trixie could respond, Violet pinched her nose and hopped off the ledge, splashing into the pool. Surfacing, she beamed at Trixie and slicked her dark hair behind her ears, treading water. </p><p>“Waiting for an invitation? Get in!”</p><p>Under Violet’s watchful eye, Trixie shucked off her shoes and lowered herself to the ledge, dipping her feet in the cool spring.</p><p>“That’s it? C’mon. Strip! Let’s swim.”</p><p>“I’m not hot,” Trixie said, kicking her feet. The force rippled around her limbs.</p><p>“I’ll turn around if you want,” Violet taunted, paddling backward, “but you haven’t got anything I haven’t seen, touched, or licked before, Beatrice.”</p><p>Trixie leaned back on her palms and kicked, splashing an arc at her. </p><p>“You just wanna see my tits, you perv.”</p><p>Violet tipped onto her back, her own chest teasing the surface. “I’ll admit it. I’m a little curious.”</p><p>Were they flirting a little? Actually getting along? For real?</p><p>Trixie smiled, paddling her feet. She was transfixed by the water’s sparkle. A pair of painted butterflies flitted across the pool, and they seemed to know exactly where they were going. Everything in nature did. She wondered if humans were the only wandering animal, desperate for a direction….</p><p>God, she was <em>so </em> fucking high.</p><p>Violet splashed at her. “You know Narcissus?”</p><p>“Like the flower?”</p><p>“Like the guy. He fell in love with his own reflection in a pool of water.” </p><p>Violet stared up at the forest canopy, drifting around the water. </p><p>“He wasted away pining after his reflection. When he died, no one cried for him but the water, who loved him, because the water could see its own beauty reflected in his eyes.”</p><p>“Wow. Didn’t realize you were so into Roman mythology.”</p><p>“Greek. And I’m not. Read it somewhere.</p><p>Violet lifted one of her legs out of the water, then crashed it back down again.</p><p>Do you think that’s what she feels like when she listens to one of our silly little love songs? Or...is it the other way around...?</p><p>“Not all of them are love songs, I keep telling you,” Trixie said, singing the same old tune. </p><p>“Every song is a love song, Trixie, even if it’s not about love,” Violet said, swimming to the opposite side, “You literally can’t be this talented and still this dense. Seriously.”</p><p>Rude.</p><p>But also, not-so-rude too. </p><p>Trixie absorbed the blow, mulling it over. Care, thought, attention. Those were expressions of love, right? Elements of devotion. Devotions to her craft. Devotions to— </p><p>Trixie lost her train of thought as Violet hoisted herself out of the water, standing to wring out her hair. Her body was so unreal, with not a mark (not even a freckle) on her skin other than the one Katya had left behind. She was built to be famous. Trixie couldn’t compete. Trixie couldn’t compare. Her admiration was poisoned by her jealousy, but she couldn’t help it. </p><p>Averting her gaze, Trixie avoided her own sweaty reflection in the pool, suppressing the mounting desire to strip down and swim. The sweat poured down her temples.</p><p>“Get in already.”</p><p>Trixie shook her head weakly, her ponytail falling apart over her shoulder. “...No. I’m okay.” </p><p>“You get this is why they chose <em>me, </em>right? This is why.”</p><p>The words stung, and so did her tone; and when Trixie looked up at her, Violet stood across the water with her legs spread and her hands on her hips like a furious river nymph. </p><p>Trixie snorted. “Because you get naked?”</p><p>“Because I<em> go for it</em>.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes. “You’re amazing. You’re flawless. <em>We get it</em>.”</p><p>Violet dropped back into the water and waded over to her side, folding her elbows on the rock ledge. She rested her head on her arms.</p><p>“I’m trying to <em>help</em> you, Trixie.”</p><p>“Well, I don’t need your <em>help</em>,” Trixie snapped down at her.</p><p>“Right. I’m just the girl that has everything you want,” Violet said, pushing back and swimming away, “If you’d take a minute from your pity party, you’d realize I don’t want you in my shadow any more than you wanna be there.”</p><p>“Easy for you to say. You’re the one standing in the sun.”</p><p>Violet rolled her eyes. “You’ve become such a pussy, Mattel.”</p><p>Pissed, Trixie scrunched her socks in her fist. Why was she this close to crying from one mean thing? Violet said mean things all the time. (Oh God, was it the drugs?) </p><p>In the background, the rumbling waterfall laughed at her cowardice—which was bullshit, because she was no coward. Would a pussy drop everything to hightail it across the country to perform for execs and journos and coffee-house hopefuls who’d heard it all before? She’d gone under the knife! She’d made the moves on her manager’s wife! Trixie was no pussy. </p><p>Indignant, she pulled her tank top over her head and then wiggled out of her shorts. </p><p>Violet swum around with a victorious smirk.</p><p>When Trixie pulled off her underwear and snapped the clasp of her bra, Violet whistled. So Trixie cannonballed next to her, plummeting into the pool. The cool water bubbled up around her waist and her ears and hair. Kicking off the smooth rockbed below, she rocketed to the surface and gasped as she met air.</p><p>Trixie dipped her head back. “It feels great.”</p><p>“Told you so,” Violet said, bobbing close enough that Trixie could see herself in the brunette’s big dilated eyes. Droplets sparkled on her reddened cheeks as her ink-black hair danced around her shoulders, netting small pink petals floating on the water.</p><p>“Okay,” Violet whispered, “Now, <em>kiss me</em>.”</p><p>Shocked, Trixie glanced at Violet’s little mouth, her plump red lips. She was very kissable, but Violet knew that already.</p><p>Pulling back, Trixie didn’t bite. “Is that a triple-dog-dare or something? Why should I?”</p><p>“Might be nice to make Katya jealous for a change. Turn-about’s fair play after all,” Violet laughed, darting away again, “I don’t know what you were so embarrassed about, bitch. You look good.”</p><p>“I’m not embarrassed. I’m just...on a journey right now. Becoming a bona-fide babe takes some getting used to. You wouldn’t understand.”</p><p>“Probably not,” Violet trilled arrogantly, and Trixie splashed at her until she shrieked and retreated to the edge of the water. </p><p>Trixie followed her lead and sat on the ledge, now confident enough that Violet (even with her mannequin physique) wouldn’t poke fun at the lip of fat that bulged whenever Trixie sat, or her coppery bush, or the white bolts shining on her thunder thighs. They were small imperfections, and smaller still than they were a year ago, but she couldn’t help but focus on the superficial. At least she could control how she looked. At least she could get something right. A part of her still wanted to believe that if she was blonder and skinnier and prettier, with nicer things and straighter teeth, things would fall into place somehow. All the rest would follow. </p><p>“You didn’t <em>have</em> to change yourself, Trixie,” Violet said, “You know that, right? Those execs tell <em>everyone </em>there’s something wrong with-”</p><p>“I didn’t do anything because of <em>them</em>,” she said, soft in confession, “I’m in LA, Vi. I’m here. In the place I’ve always dreamed of. Aren’t you supposed to change when you’ve made it somewhere? Isn’t the transformation what makes all the shit before, all that stuff, <em>worth </em>something? <em>Mean</em> something?”</p><p>A riptide of memory (broken homes, bloody sheets, bruises she hid for weeks) dragged her from the tranquility of the forest. She thought of lonely blue nights sleeping beside Max and all the times Pearl had blown her off for somebody more exciting. She was unloved, unwanted, unseen. <em>Diminished</em>. She felt that way constantly, with everyone.</p><p> Except Katya. </p><p>She started to cry. Her face ached. The frown pulled her muscles to their fullest expression and she couldn’t stop sobbing—but it felt like a relief. Through her blurry vision, she saw Violet holding her face.</p><p>“You’re crying,” Trixie pointed out needlessly.</p><p>Violet smiled and wiped her blotchy cheeks with the backs of her hands.</p><p>“We’re both crying,” she sniffled, “It happens.”</p><p>They were wet and naked, tripping balls and crying together in the middle of the woods. In her wildest dreams, Trixie could not have predicted this.</p><p>“I’m sorry I’m so mean to you,” Violet said, tear-clogged, “But you can be so annoying…”</p><p>Trixie laughed through her tears.</p><p>“...and she likes you <em>so much</em>,” Violet wept, “You two have rituals. You do things together. We don't. It's all spur of the moment."</p><p>"That can be romantic though."</p><p>"We used to see each other once a week."</p><p>"Yeah, but Vi, your schedules now--"</p><p>"Stop making excuses for her! She makes time for you! I hate that you act like you don't see it. Both of you. You finish each other’s sentences,” she said with a bitter laugh, with pleading eyes, “You have your own <em>gravity</em> together. I look at you two and...I see it. Everyone sees it. Why don’t you?”</p><p>Trixie clenched her teeth to stop herself from speaking, but her jaw felt like it would shatter if she didn’t release the pressure.</p><p>“I do! Okay? I <em>feel</em> it. I know it,” she rushed out, “But literally, what is the point in me mooning over her, Vi? It doesn’t <em>feel good</em> having everyone point it out to me and having all these big feelings for her still, because <em>Katya doesn’t want me</em>, Violet. So, no, I don’t want to talk about it, because my feelings won’t make a difference. They never have.”</p><p>“I don’t believe that.”</p><p>“Which part?”</p><p>Violet didn’t say. She stared down at her fingers, then out at the water and then beyond through the forest, looking anywhere but the blonde sitting next to her. </p><p>“I’m happy you admitted it at least,” she murmured finally, “So, now tell me why I’m so jealous of <em>you</em>, and your big tits, and not her fucking husband?”</p><p>“Because fuck Karl,” Trixie said, not missing a beat, “Who cares about Karl?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Violet chuckled, “Fuck Karl.”</p><p>With an impish smirk, Violet flicked Trixie’s septum; but when Trixie tried to retaliate with Violet’s nipple ring. The brunette instantly curled up and guarded herself.</p><p>“Don’t you dare, bitch,” she laughed, shooting her a playful glare, “That’s assault.”</p><p>Trixie wiped her tears, breathing deep to regain some composure. Then they sat together in perfect silence, emotions fizzling down until Violet tapped her knee.</p><p>“C’mon. Get dressed. I want us to get there in time.”</p><p>“Where? There’s more?”</p><p>“Of course there’s more, Beatrice,” Violet said, standing and snatching up her sports bra, “I don’t do anything half measure.”</p><p>#</p><p>Arm in arm, Trixie and Violet huffed up the final hill of the private trail and emerged onto the main path. The two of them gulped down water before giggling past other hikers as Violet urged Trixie toward the opening in the woods. </p><p>People gathered around the ledge of the ridge, admiring the flowering hills and the Topa Topa mountains painted bright peach and red as the sun fell over the valley. Trixie had never seen a sunset so gorgeous: The entire world cast in hues of pink and pulsing like creamy watercolor in the moonglow sky. No wonder Ojai was famous for them. She was so glad she was stoned. </p><p>“Thank you for pushing me into this,” she said to Violet, who seemed surprised but appreciative all the same, “I cried a little more than I’d wanted...but….”</p><p>“I think you needed it,” Violet breathed, gazing over the valley.</p><p>“I think we both needed it.”</p><p>The hours they’d spent hiking together suddenly seemed like days, like weeks, like she’d gone into the forest significantly younger. And that wasn’t a metaphor. It literally felt like that. She now understood why it was called a<em> trip</em>. She’d taken a trip on a trip….Trixie laughed aloud, startling a couple cuddling in the wild tarragon.</p><p>“Come on,” Violet said, tugging Trixie’s arm as she texted something, “I wanna get back before it gets too dark. Katya’s gonna make us smoothies.”</p><p>For the first time the entire day, Trixie’s stomach grumbled.</p><p>Violet offered her the trail map. “You wanna lead the way?” </p><p>“Thought you’d never ask,” Trixie said, eyes lighting up as she scanned the pamphlet. She chose the shortest intermediate path, circling back to their starting point. </p><p>On the way, the two of them sang together, an alto and mezzo-soprano harmonizing ‘Moon River’ and impressing themselves with how rich they sounded with only the woodland creatures as their audience. Frizzy and exhilarated, they stumbled out of the mouth of the trail before dark. The glass lodge loomed over them and Trixie rested her hands on her wiggly knees while Violet finished off her water, twisting her sneakers in the gravel. </p><p>“Hey, Vi.”</p><p>At her non-response, Trixie straightened and followed her line of sight to the deck jutting off the master bedroom. Up there,  Katya moved through pose after pose with a grace that surprised Trixie every time she watched her do yoga. She made it look so easy. Trixie waited for her to pull a headstand, because she liked those best, but Katya hesitated at the last moment. Instead, she grabbed her bare foot and pulled it toward the back of her head in a pose so named for Shiva, the Hindu god of dance and destruction. Trixie had no idea how she’d retained that useless factoid—likely because Katya always looked so good doing it. </p><p>The two of them watched her for longer than they would’ve sober, without needling each other for gawking. She was beautiful, and they both loved her, giving in to the simple urge to stare.</p><p>“I’m gonna ask her,” Violet announced with conviction.</p><p>“Ask her <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“Why she hasn’t left Karl. If she’s <em>ever </em>gonna leave Karl. I’m gonna ask her what’s happening with her little room. And I’m gonna get a straight answer.”</p><p>“Out of Katya?” Trixie chuckled, wrangling her sweat-drenched hair into a bun. “Good luck.”</p><p>“Just need to ask the right question,” Violet mused, “One she can’t duck out of. I’m gonna be straight up.”</p><p>Violet rubbed her fingers together, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. For all that talk of being brave, of <em>going for it</em>, Violet looked nervous and Trixie worried forher. Deep down, she knew whatever answer Violet got from Katya would seal the deal for all of them. </p><p>No more dreaming. No more wondering. No more secrets. </p><p>Her sense of foreboding lingered when Katya opened the front door to greet them with a curious smile and bright purple smoothies in hand. The two of them sucked the drinks down in record time and then they all lounged together in front of a crackling fire, hypnotized by the flames as the high finally began to mellow out into a long, languid energy that burnt down with the embers.</p><p>God, acid lasted too damn long.</p><p>It lasted long enough for Violet to crash on the couch before she could pop her big question. Her sphynx snoozed on her head. </p><p>At Trixie’s mewling request, Katya helped her upstairs into the dark of the guest bedroom and  turned down the sheets for her. As Trixie wound the comforter beneath her chin, staring at the swirling dark, Katya sat at the edge of her bed.</p><p>“I’m not really tired,” Trixie whispered to her, “I’m just ready for it to be over. Like, I’m okay. It was fun. But I’m okay for it to be over now too. I want to be done.”</p><p>Katya smiled, swiping a piece of sweaty hair from Trixie’s forehead. “It will be over tomorrow, <em>zaichonok</em>.” </p><p>The dark wobbled around her.</p><p>“Katya. Are acid flashbacks really a thing?”</p><p>“No, not really.”</p><p>Trixie sat up. “No? Or <em>not really</em>?”</p><p>“You are okay,” Katya chuckled, calm and soft, “I promise.”</p><p>“I know. I’m fine. I’m completely fine.”</p><p>Was she fine? Trixie’s eyes darted around, trying to catch the movement playing just out of sight.</p><p>“Yes. You are fine,” Katya reassured her.</p><p>With a calming breath, Trixie concentrated on Katya and the low timbre of her voice, and the little bump in her magical journey smoothed itself out again. Yes,she was just fine—but in the moonlight, Katya’s face stood out in stark relief, like she was under a spotlight, and Trixie noticed the furrow in her brow, the reservation in her eyes. Her little smile was fixed on her face, strained.</p><p>Trixie reached for her hand. “Hey. What’s wrong?”</p><p>Katya chewed on her lip. “Oh, I should <em>not</em> tell you this right now, but….”</p><p>Trixie widened her eyes, encouraging her. “But?”</p><p>With a nervous glance at the door, Katya grimaced. </p><p>“I have to break it off  with Violet,” she whispered.</p><p>“What?!” Trixie shot up again, her mind racing.</p><p>“Shh! Sh-sh! Quiet!” </p><p>Nervous, Katya bullied her back down against the sheets. At Trixie’s little laugh, she chuckled down at her, “<em>Quiet</em>, you.”</p><p>Hand pressed against the mattress, Katya’s arm caged her in. </p><p>“Katya,” she whispered up at her, “Violet is going to <em>freak</em>.”</p><p>Katya gave her an admonishing glare.</p><p>“No, I mean, she fully has no idea it’s coming. Trust me. Oh my God, you two were just humping <em>this morning</em>.”</p><p>Katya hung her head, as if ashamed, and Trixie squeezed her fingers.</p><p>“It has to happen,” she murmured, “There is so much tension. Too much tension.”</p><p>“Between you and Violet? Or you and Karl? Or Violet and Karl?”</p><p>Katya licked her bottom lip and then nodded. “<em>Yes</em>.”</p><p>“God. When are you gonna do it?”</p><p>“Maybe tomorrow?”</p><p>“Maybe tomorrow,” Trixie repeated, her head falling back with disbelief, “Katya…”</p><p><em>“I know</em>,” she mumbled with a futile chuckle, falling against Trixie’s chest when she tugged on her arm, “I have never claimed to be good at making good choices.”</p><p>“And no one would ever accuse you of it.”</p><p>Katya laughed, her breath puffing against Trixie’s eyes. She swept her messy hair over her shoulder, the moonlit waves falling like white-gold ribbons. Trixie stared up at her. Was Katya always <em>this </em>pretty? Was she always this sad?</p><p>“I fucked it up with her.”</p><p>“Poor Yekaterina,” she whispered, “Everyone loves you. What hardship.”</p><p>Katya huffed a laugh. “I am very vulnerable right now. Stop making fun of me.”</p><p>Trixie sat up and balanced her chin on Katya’s shoulder. She was so close to her face, to her pouting lips. She thought of Violet in the water, calling her a pussy. She thought of Violet writhing on the bed that morning, clutching Katya’s head to her heart. And she thought of losing Katya to Japan, to time, to imaginary future girls, and she couldn’t keep silent any longer. </p><p>“Maybe I’m completely damaged,” she breathed, her fingers sliding over Katya’s gold band, “but I think she was lucky to have any time with you at all.”</p><p>Her heart started pounding. She felt the heat rising to her face. </p><p>Katya blinked, then smiled and tapped the tip of her nose.</p><p> “You are on drugs,” she said simply.</p><p>“Even if I wasn’t.”</p><p>“Trixie,” she whined, as if she were the one being denied, “Violet is sleeping downstairs.”</p><p>Her eyes flicked to Trixie’s lips, then back at her eyes; and Trixie’s stomach butterflied at the overwhelming want radiating from Katya’s tense stare. This time, Trixie didn’t retreat.</p><p>“I want you to kiss me.”</p><p>“You know I can not kiss you.”</p><p>“Because Violet is sleeping downstairs? Or because you don’t want to?”</p><p>“Do not bait me,” Katya breathed, looping a strand of hair behind Trixie’s ear, “<em>You know how I look at you...</em>.”</p><p>The butterflies in Trixie’s stomach melted into something hot and molten, a delicious heaviness dropping between her thighs. Finally, she’d said it. Finally, Trixie knew for certain that she hadn’t imagined her hungry reflection in the studio mirrors or the way Katya’s touches lingered too long or how she laughed too loud and long whenever she cracked a joke. Finally, they were going to address the attracting energy that popped and crackled between them, which they’d both been polite enough to ignore and side-step until now.</p><p>God, Trixie couldn’t remember ever wanting someone this much. She couldn’t remember ever wanting someone more.</p><p>“I like the way you look at me,” she whispered into her neck, thrilled when a small shiver passed through Katya’s shoulders. </p><p>“Yes. I know.”</p><p>Without a second thought, Trixie pressed against her and kissed the corner of Katya’s mouth. Immediately, Katya turned to kiss her truly, her plush lips clinging to her as they both sighed into the inevitable. Trixie felt as if she would float away if not for the heavy pounding weighting her hips to the mattress. She touched Katya’s chin as the kiss deepened, heavy and slow and sweet.</p><p>“I know we’re horrible,” Trixie said, “Violet’s—”</p><p>“Downstairs. Sleeping. Yes, I am horrible. God. <em>Horrible</em>.”</p><p>Trixie wet her lips, tasting Katya’s bedtime balm as she reached for Trixie’s hands, holding them in her lap.</p><p>“Trixie, if you and I….”</p><p>Her heart lifted. “Yes?”</p><p>Katya shook her head.  “It will end the same way, you understand? Eventually, I will have to cut you loose too. That is the way of things.”</p><p>Trixie snatched her hands back.</p><p>“You’re never gonna leave him,” she realized, “Are you?”</p><p>Katya’s silence, and the solemn shake of her head, said it all.</p><p>“Not for Violet. Not for me….”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>In a split second, Trixie’s white-hot lust burnt down into the blackest disappointment. She clenched her fist to ground herself in that anger, digging her nails into her palm.</p><p>“Why? I don’t—<em>why</em>? Because you’re moving to Japan?”</p><p>Katya made a puzzled face. “Moving to Japan?”</p><p>“You don’t love him,” Trixie hissed, “I know you don’t. How could you? He treats you like—”</p><p>Katya waved her off. “He treats me fine.”</p><p>“<em>Does he</em>?”</p><p>“Better than every other man in my life. I will tell you that much,” Katya said firmly, “I am not a miserable <em>devitsa</em> trapped in a tower, Trixie. He is my husband.”</p><p>“You don’t need him, Katya.”</p><p>“Of course not,” she scoffed, as if that were obvious, “But I did agree to marry him.”</p><p>Trixie crossed her legs, then her arms. </p><p>“Oh, so all the cheating is fine and dandy, but divorce is where you draw the line?”</p><p>“It is not <em>cheating </em>if—” ”</p><p>“I know he keeps tabs on you so he can know everything—”</p><p>“He knows everything because I <em>tell</em> him everything, Trixie,” she interrupted, chopping her hand through the air, “It has been this way for years, since I met him. He knows about me and Violet because he wants to know. He<em> likes</em> to know. So, I tell him. Do you understand?”</p><p>With a blink, Trixie scooted back on the bed, resting on her haunches as her poor drug-addled mind (lizard brain and all) struggled to process the information. The moonlight hitting Katya’s face now looked like a celestial interrogation light, her expression even more despondent than before. She nibbled on her thumbnail until Trixie reached out, lowering Katya’s hand to her lap.</p><p>“So,” Trixie said calmly, “are you telling me you give him like...play-by-plays of what goes on? With you and Violet?”</p><p>With a single nod, Katya confirmed it. </p><p>Trixie’s stomach turned. </p><p>“Do <em>you</em> like it?”</p><p>“No! No...but,” Katya huffed, shaking her head again, “Marriage is a compromise, Trixie. That is one of ours.”</p><p>“That’s fucked up, Katya.”</p><p>“That is life,” Katya replied. </p><p>Trixie squeezed her arms tighter across her chest. “Are you gonna tell Vi all that?”</p><p>“I don’t know what I am going to tell Vi.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t,” Trixie said, touching her thigh.</p><p>“Salt in the wound?”</p><p>“Are you kidding me? Like hydrochloric acid in the wound, oh my god.”</p><p>Katya nodded, agreeing with her—then, with a heavy breath, pushed herself from the mattress. </p><p>Trixie crawled over the comforter, catching her hand.</p><p>“Katya, wait.”</p><p>She did.</p><p>“Have you told him anything about us?”</p><p>“Nothing to tell,” Katya said, with a sad smile and a small shrug, “We are <em>just friends</em>. There is no <em>us</em> to speak of.”</p><p>Trixie swallowed the lump in her throat and Katya let go of her hand.</p><p>“I do not want to make the same mistakes twice,” Katya continued, lingering in the doorway, “And I can not hurt you the way I have hurt Violet. I... don’t know what else to say.”</p><p>Winding the comforter in her fists, Trixie took a deep breath, as if she were going skinny dipping again, plunging into the unknown. She must’ve cracked, gone totally cuckoo insane, synapses burnt down to pixie dust, because she just wanted to tell her that everything would be okay. She wanted to tell her that Violet wouldn’t totally despise her for being complicit in that jerk-off’s jack-off theatre even if Violet was totally justified never speaking to Katya again. </p><p>Katya had her reasons, said Trixie’s bleeding heart, even if those reasons seemed a little backwards—and Trixie had already forgiven her for everything, even if the crime wasn’t hers to forgive. </p><p> “I still mean it. What I said. She was lucky.”</p><p>“You really are deranged,” Katya chuckled hoarsely, her voice clogged with unshed tears.</p><p>“I said damaged, not deranged. But maybe that too,” Trixie said, turning away to curl up in the sheets, staring blankly at the shadows dancing along the wall, “But I don’t know, Katya. If I have to live with your secrets, you can live with one of mine too. I think I realized today that I am...in love with you, and there’s no helping it. That’s just my luck. It really is.”</p><p>Katya said nothing for long enough that Trixie thought she might’ve left, then she heard a hoarse, “Goodnight, Trix,” murmured across the room and then the latch of the door closed tight.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Never Love a Wild Thing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Call it women’s intuition, but Violet knew the vibe was off the moment she groaned awake against the gray skies and swaying sequoias. Though it was only 7am, Violet had overslept if she’d wanted a morning quickie, and Katya’s side of the bed was empty. The rumpled sheets were cold.</p><p>Gathering all the blankets, Violet curled into a tight warm ball. She couldn’t remember going to bed the night before. She remembered cuddling with Patrick and watching the shadows pirouette across the ceiling beams as the fire shot sparks against the flue. She remembered Katya nuzzling against her shoulder, and that it felt good, but nothing else later into the evening.</p><p>Crawling out of bed, Violet heard voices below: Katya and Trixie were both up. Together. She wondered how long, and what they’d already talked about, and whether anything had changed. Though she felt vindicated at Trixie’s admission yesterday, Violet now wondered if she hadn’t fucked herself over in the pursuit of the truth.</p><p>Even if Katya left Karl, and all her dreams went rose-tinted, Violet would still have to contend with The Trixie Situation. Katya’s eyes would still follow Barbie Girl out of every room; and Trixie would still conjure up Katya’s megawatt smile with an ease and audacity that felt near-pornographic every single time.</p><p>God, she hated this.</p><p>In her whole life, she’d never been in a relationship that made her this insecure. It felt as if one tremor would collapse the whole thing. Yet, she’d always melt whenever Katya touched her. She’d always forgive Katya’s half-assed apologies murmured into her skin; and afterward, Katya would continue doing whatever Katya wanted to do and nothing would change.</p><p>Violet had nothing to bargain with but a broken heart; and who the fuck wanted to deal with damaged goods?</p><p>Nobody, that’s who.</p><p>Violet brushed her teeth, disappointed at her reflection, and then joined the women downstairs.</p><p>For the remainder of the morning, Violet pushed it all toward the back of her mind. Trixie was raring to work and Violet welcomed the distraction from their tangled love lives. It was nice to get something done for a change, putting their noses to the grindstone and sober as a pair of nuns.</p><p>Violet sat at the grand piano and Trixie at the rain-streaked windows with her guitar, both nested in sheet music with pencils twisted in their hair. They worked for hours laying the groundwork for two tracks tentatively titled ‘Vile Vortex’ and ‘Neverlove.’ By some miracle, both of them were pleased with their contributions and eager to produce the rough cuts in the basement studio to send off to Karl. Katya kept a fire going all day long. She poured them tea on breaks and curled up with Patrick on the couch to read a textbook on thermodynamics, occasionally wandering off to somewhere else in the house.</p><p>Katya remained unusually quiet, as did Trixie—but at least Trixie had the excuse of a come-down. The Terrible Twosome barely spoke to one another, which was the most unusual of all; and although Violet didn’t miss their incessant chatter or their stupid inside jokes, she did find it increasingly uncomfortable and difficult to ignore.</p><p>When Katya yawned at them and excused herself for a late afternoon shower, Violet swiveled on the bench as soon as she walked out of earshot.</p><p>“Okay, spill: What’s the deal with you two?”</p><p>“I thought we covered that yesterday,” Trixie mumbled around a pencil, distracting herself with a simple three-chord switch on the neck of her guitar. She didn’t look her in the eye.</p><p>Red flag.</p><p>“Did something happen when I fell asleep last night?”</p><p>Trixie played dumb. “When you were...<em>asleep</em>? Uh? No?”</p><p>“Oh my God. Just tell me.”</p><p>“I went to bed, like, right after. We didn’t stay up or anything.”</p><p>“Then why are you both acting so awkward?”</p><p>Trixie was quiet for a beat too long. “You should ask Katya.”</p><p>“I’m asking you.”</p><p>Trixie lowered her voice.</p><p>“You know how you wanted to ask her about <em>stuff</em>? She has <em>stuff</em> she needs to talk about too, okay?”</p><p>“We’re not in middle school, Trix.”</p><p>“Yeah, exactly. So, you two can hash it out like adults. I’m not getting involved.”</p><p>“Since when? You’ve <em>been</em> involved. You’ve <em>always</em> been involved.”</p><p>“Just drop it, Vi. I said enough. I’m not saying anything else.”</p><p>“We had this great morning and now you’re ruining it, Beatrice.”</p><p>Exhausted, Trixie rolled her eyes and rested her head against the glass. “If you’re so curious, why don’t you grow a pair and ask her yourself? Aren’t you supposed to be<em> The Brave One</em>?”</p><p>“Don’t act like a pompous cunt,” Violet retaliated, turning back to the piano, “You can’t pull it off.”</p><p>“Sure, fine, whatever,” Trixie sighed, grabbing her guitar and bee-lining to the stairs. Violet watched her disappear into the guest bedroom, the door latching behind her.</p><p>Well, alright. Okay. She felt a little bad calling her a cunt, but still…Using her own words against her, who did Trixie think she was?</p><p>Violet trailed her fingers over the ivories, still warm from hours of experimentation. She recalled those dusky afternoons learning beside her grandmother for the Easter services at Iglesia Tesalonica. When her Yaya died, Violet was only nineteen and utterly alone and strip-teasing to pay the bills, with nothing but an old piano as a conduit for her grief and frustration.</p><p>Music kept her going then. It would keep her going now.</p><p>From the top, she began her song, the only one belonging to her alone. With an ear bent toward the instrument, she worked through the bridge—changing key on a lark, gliding into a gorgeous new arrangement until the melody was strong enough to support the lyrics in the third stanza:</p><p>
  <em>Angel with flamingo wings</em>
</p><p>
  <em>plastic diamonds, candy rings</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Does the real stuff sparkle and shine?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Is the real stuff as sugary, as fine?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Promises, promises,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t say we’ve got time. </em>
</p><p>Clearing her throat, Violet’s hands slipped from the keyboard into her lap.</p><p>She didn’t know how to end it: the song or her mess with Katya.</p><p>She had a gut-churning feeling the one would proceed with the other.</p><p>#</p><p>The late afternoon rolled into evening without any of Ojai’s natural glamour. A quiet vegetarian dinner led to an evening movie with the three of them cuddled on the sofa watching “Rosemary’s Baby.” Violet wedged herself into the center, tucking herself into Katya’s side as the film crescendoed with Mia Farrow screaming about her infant son’s ‘strange’ eyes.</p><p>Katya closed the laptop screen with her ankle.</p><p>“Hey! What gives?” Trixie sat up.</p><p>“It is the end!”</p><p>“It’s not the end until the credits roll,” Trixie argued, “and sometimes, not even then.”</p><p>Katya shifted, jostling Violet from her shoulder and disentangling their legs. Yawning, Violet grunted her displeasure.</p><p>“The end is not the end,” Katya said, her eyes brightening like a carnival psychic, “We should do a seance. Do the board thing. That’s what we should do.”</p><p>Trixie crossed her arms. “To talk to…?”</p><p>“A soap opera star was murdered here in the 1970s. Before the renovations.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Trixie laughed, “You’re lying.”</p><p>Katya waved her hand at Trixie’s cellphone on the coffee table. “Look it up! Look it up, look it up. It was a ritual crime of passion.”</p><p>Violet tipped her head back, pillowing her head against Katya’s chest. “It’s one or the other. A ritual crime or a crime of passion. There’s no such thing as a ritual crime of passion.”</p><p>“Yeah? Tell that to Katya’s love life,” Trixie snorted, and Violet barked out a laugh when Katya responded with a middle finger.</p><p>“Last time I was here? Tried to diddle her ghost,” Katya chuckled.</p><p>Violet picked at a cuticle. “Tried? She’s just not that into you?”</p><p>“She probably heard your bones rattling and got pissed that it was a false alarm,” Trixie laughed, screeching when Katya hurled a cushion at her.</p><p>When the laughter lulled, Violet nudged at Trixie’s socked foot. She and Katya had<em> stuff</em> to talk about, apparently, and all three of them had been within arm’s reach since this morning—avoiding any opportunity for difficult one-on-one conversation. Of course, she needed to be the one to break the detente. After all, she was <em>the brave one</em>—as Trixie had so helpfully reminded her. And of course, Trixie completely ignored her clue to scram, so Violet kicked her harder. This time, Trixie locked eyes with her before awkwardly clearing her throat, sliding off the couch.</p><p>“Guess I’ll just..head up to bed then?”</p><p>“So early?” Katya tilted her head toward fresh logs heaped onto the fire.</p><p>“Yeah, I uh...I’m like, really beat, actually,” she said, proving herself to be the worst fucking liar in Hollywood.</p><p>Violet scowled: She couldn’t make<em> anything</em> easy for her, could she?</p><p>#</p><p>Trixie backed toward the stairs as if leaving a lamb to slaughter, taking one last look before the babe got a bolt to the brain. (Vegetarianism was truly saintlike. She believed this wholeheartedly.)</p><p>Over Violet’s shoulder, Katya’s panicked expression would’ve made her laugh if the situation weren’t so tender.</p><p>The fallout was imminent now. She could feel a charge in the air, like an intuitive static. As a kid, she used to preemptively hide under the covers before her parents got into one of their rows. She’d wedge a rattly flashlight between her thighs and play house with her two Dollar Store Darlings, one missing her cheap plastic arm and the other tattooed with Crayola.</p><p>(Screaming, more screaming, then a crash, her big-top sanctuary wrenched back….)</p><p>Trixie shuddered, retreating to the guest bedroom and grabbing her fluffy sweater. She sat out on the terrace, hugging her knees to her chest, and watched the rain drip off the eaves for a little while. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts, not after last night, but fuck...here she was anyway.</p><p>Kissing Katya, telling her she <em>loved </em>her...God...what the hell was she thinking? What did she expect to change? Neither of them had brought it up, acting like it never happened, like they could wave it off as hyper-goofy-love-feelings catalyzed by LSD...but that was a convenient fiction. She knew it. Katya knew it. (Even Violet knew it.)</p><p>She still couldn’t expect anything to change.</p><p>Her ears pricked at the raised voices below, shoulders tensing up as she waited for the big bomb to drop. She stepped back indoors just as Violet charged past her room, down the hall to the master. In the door-frame of the far bedroom, Violet hauled her luggage onto the unmade bed and flurried around, stuffing her priceless clothing inside.</p><p>She was clearly pissed, and wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands.</p><p>Trixie glanced over the mezzanine railing. Chewing on her thumb, deep in thought, Katya stood stock-still and silent, only noticing Trixie when Violet plowed down the hall again with her things in hand.</p><p>“I can’t stay here anymore.” she said to no-one and everyone, “I can’t do all this. Where’s my cat? <em>Psspsspssp</em>ss. Someone find my...fucking...cat...”</p><p>Her luggage clunked down each stair.</p><p>“You stay. I will leave,” Katya said, stepping forward, “I-I should leave.”</p><p>“Don’t be stupid, Katya,” Violet warbled, ducking her head to avoid Katya’s gaze, “It’s your house, isn’t it? This is all yours. It all belongs to you. Might as well <em>fill it up</em>, right?”</p><p>Confused, Trixie jumped when something unexpected grazed her ankle. Patrick peered up at her, yawning wide, and she scooped him up. Hesitantly, she handed him off to Violet, whose face (whose entire freakin’ bearing) was a stormfront—confronting her with waterworks and rage.</p><p>“Does she know about your little surprise? Am I<em> really</em> the last to know?” Cradling the sphynx against her breast, she chopped a hand toward Trixie. “No, forget it. Fuck it. Fuck both of you.”</p><p>Crouching, Violet guided Patrick into his little crate. She remained in a squat, inhaling deep.</p><p>“I knew it probably wasn’t gonna be Happily Ever After for us,” Violet said to Katya, a crease forming in her chin, “But I wanted it to be. I fooled myself into really wanting it. You get it? I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”</p><p>Katya took another step forward, then retreated, wringing her hands. “Vi….”</p><p>“I’m glad you told me about your freak husband, though,” she said, feigning nonchalance, “Honestly, I don’t care what he knows, but I had a feeling he knew too much. Things he’d say….”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“Like it matters, Katya! Like it <em>ever</em> mattered to you before,” she said, fishing her keys out of her jacket, “I’ll admit, maybe it’s my lack of imagination or whatever, but I really didn’t think it would end like this. With...<em>that</em>.”</p><p>With a disgusted scowl, she tilted her head at Katya, as if gesturing to something—and Katya’s sad face hardened. She crossed her arms and glowered at her.</p><p>“That pig only did this to you to keep you leashed to him forever,” Vi said, “You know that?”</p><p>“He didn’t do anything<em>to</em> me,” Katya argued, pointing at herself, “I did it. I did.”</p><p>“He’s brainwashed you, Katya. He’s got you all backwards. I’m the one who bargained with him for your exhibit in Culver City, okay? I—”</p><p>“You did <em>nothing</em>,” Katya snapped, “He never prevented me from any of it. That is what you don’t understand, what you won't listen to, because you hate him.”</p><p>“Because he’s the fucking worst!”</p><p>“You keep telling me things I should want, the life I should lead, as if I did not have a life before you. I am not Karl’s prisoner, Vi, and I am not <em>your </em>wife, and I have never pretended to be anything other than what I am to you.”</p><p>“Oh, so it’s just my problem? I should just get over it? Forget about it all? Move on?”</p><p>Katya didn’t answer, but her silence was enough for Violet.</p><p>“Fine,” she sneered, “Have it your way. Like always.”</p><p>Though she rebuffed her help, Trixie nonetheless rolled the rest of Vi’s luggage into the foyer. Without another look in Katya’s direction, the brunette packed up her car and left. Katya stood at the windows, watching until Vi’s tail lights finally disappeared through the trees.</p><p>Wow. Fuck.</p><p>Trixie released a long-held breath, pushing off the wall. “Katya, what the hell happ—?”</p><p>“I’m going to bed,” Katya said, turning away from the glass and breezing past her, straight up the stairs, “Goodnight.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Thy Fearful Symmetry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>THREE YEARS AGO</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Having never flown, Katya was absolutely terrified of getting in an airplane.</p><p>Getting in an airplane and leaving her country.</p><p>Getting in an airplane and never coming back.</p><p>She’d always dreamed of leaving Russia. However, the <em>reality</em> of packing up all her worldly possessions and fleeing to California to elope with a wealthy American patron over twenty years older than her was...intimidating. It was one thing to playact The Girlfriend Experience on the internet, quite another to adopt the role in real life—and the boys she’d caught on the web never felt wholly <em>real </em>to her. Even Karl.</p><p>None of them ever felt as real as Dimitri, who snored into her neck every night, and had long-appointed her the sole keeper and guardian of his personal happiness—which meant, if he was unhappy, she had failed him in some amorphous way.</p><p>Loving him was a responsibility, like all her other responsibilities living with him: paying the bills, smoothing things over with the creditors and the <em>bratva</em>, keeping him from getting his kneecaps broken. She shook her ass for horned-up lonelyhearts and swiveled on twisted gangsters’ laps. After so many years of wandering, wasting most of her twenties crashing on couches and sleeping in cars, she was desperate for <em>home</em>, for someone who would share the burden of survival. She was tired of fending for herself—and yet, with Dimitri, Katya still found herself alone.</p><p>Until she wasn’t anymore.</p><p>“You never get this pretty for me,” Dimitri once griped, pouting over a bowl of instant noodles while Katya curled her hair on the floor of their apartment, “You don’t bother with the other perverts like you do for <em>Him</em>.”</p><p>‘Him’ being her one reliable regular. Her generous benefactor. Her demented diary. By far, her relationship with KvS101 was the most involved and most lucrative of all her digital dates. On the really tough days, she actually wanted to ring Him for some much-needed catharsis—strange as it was.</p><p>“The other perverts do not pay for the food in our bellies, the roof over our heads,” she replied simply, touching up her lipstick, “Neither do you, Dima.”</p><p>In response, he called her every nasty name he could before slurping down his noodles and slamming the door so hard the plaster rained onto her head.</p><p>When Dimitri finally landed himself in the slammer, Karl leapt at the chance to fill his void in her life.</p><p>“You are sure about this?” she asked the mustachioed man on her laptop screen. She was skeptical, of course, about grand gestures and declarations of love from a man who had yet to experience her in the flesh.</p><p>“I”ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he replied, while gorgeous California palms waved at her in the background, “I’m crazy as a fox about you.”</p><p>“And how long until you regain sanity? My fortieth birthday? My fiftieth?”</p><p>“I know you people tend to be grim,” he said, grinning when she rolled her eyes, “But have a little faith in me, darlin.’ The only reason I didn’t pop the question sooner was that layabout beau of yours.”</p><p>And with Dimitri gone, nothing was holding her to Russia, not even the nostalgic patriotism that kept her countrymen waiting on a return to better years. So, Katya took her chances and agreed, expecting Karl’s flight of fancy to crash and burn just like all of Dimitri’s castles in the sky.</p><p>Yet, not a week after, her plane ticket arrived in the mail and Karl took care of everything—just as promised. Against all odds, he did not disappoint.</p><p>And once she was shown to her first-class seat, with its plush cushions and warm towels and flutes of champagne, Katya’s fear of flying evaporated very quickly.</p><p>For over twelve hours, she stared out the passenger porthole, literally watching the world go by and bidding her old life <em>proshchal'nyy privet, </em>before the plane dipped and the Los Angeles sprawl emerged from the mist.</p><p>Suddenly, she was a brand new woman in a brand new world.</p><p>The awkwardness of meeting Karl in person only hit her after the post-flight chaos at the terminal, when they sat quietly in the backseat of his car service. Throughout their first meeting, Karl maintained a polite distance from her. Not a hug. Not a handshake. Not a touch at all. Even when he ushered her into the backseat, his hand hovered inches over her lower back.</p><p>His first words to her in private: “Are you hungry, sugar?”</p><p>“No,” she declared, before laughing at the weirdness of it all: Being whisked away to America to start a new life and being called ‘sugar’ and ‘honey’ and whatever sweet thing he wanted to call her. It was so bizarre, especially compared to Dimitri’s insults.</p><p>“Straight home then,” he said, smiling as he signaled to the driver and the car peeled from the curb, “Are you feeling anxious? Nervous?”</p><p>“Yes,” she admitted, fidgeting in her lap, nervous-laughing again, “Only a psychopath would not be nervous, Karl.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” he chuckled.</p><p>Katya spent most of the car ride with her eyes out the window, scanning flashy pedestrians and sun-burnt tourists as if on safari, as if she’d never seen a human being in the wild. It was all so new, and yet so <em>familiar, </em>hitting her with the strangest golden-dipped déjà-vu. She’d seen flashes of LA in those pirated flicks, and here she was inside of one. The landscape was as strange and familiar as meeting Karl for the first time after nearly three years of trading secrets, showing skin, and getting off.</p><p>For a horny old goat, he was behaving himself quite well. She half-expected to get jumped as soon as the partition went up; so, she wondered why he’d kept his hands to himself. He smelled nice enough. She wouldn't mind. Discreetly, she dipped her nose into the crease of her arm. Maybe <em>she</em> was the one who smelled.</p><p>As the gate shuddered aside and the car pulled up to the mansion, Katya pressed so close to the window she could’ve smeared snot on the glass. She wanted to peel her eyes back to see everything she could: on a 360° swivel, like a chameleon. Katya tripped out of the car while she stared at the lush landscaping, the detailed stonework, the abundance and enormity of it all.</p><p>Karl stepped up to her side. “What do you think?”</p><p>“Three people live here?”</p><p>“Four now,” he said, waving her toward the front door,</p><p>She took a step and then halted, her stomach flipping. “Your daughters.”</p><p>“They know about you of course.”</p><p>“What do they<em> know</em>?”</p><p>Katya knew Californians had a loosey-goosey and free-spirited reputation, but even she would be halfway-scandalized if her new step-daughters knew their father had pissed away thousands of dollars on a Russian cam-girl to hear her sad-sack stories before jerking off and proclaiming his lifelong devotion to her.</p><p>“I told them we met on business. Alyssa and Phiona are in their twilight years of high school, Katya. They’re far more interested in the politics of their little cliques than our arrangement,” he said, severely underestimating the sleuthing capabilities of a couple curious teenage girls.</p><p>“Are they inside?”</p><p>“Vacationing in Miami with their mother. Ginger and I figured you could use the time to settle in,” he said, ushering her toward the front door again, “We have an appointment with my lawyer at the end of the week. They need your wet signature on a couple documents and then….”</p><p>She nodded, not caring for the legal particulars. “We will be married.”</p><p>“Exactly right. Come on now. Come meet the staff.”</p><p>Inside his mansion, two middle-aged women stood in the foyer next to Katya’s mismatched trunks of luggage. Karl introduced them as Mrs. Davis and Ms. DuJour and Katya tried not to be rude as she shook their hands, but her wide eyes wandered past the two housekeepers to take in the expansive house behind them—now, her <em>home</em>—with unabashed curiosity and delight. It looked even more beautiful than the photos: gaudy, overwrought, dripping with luxury.</p><p>Sensing her excitement, Karl smiled and gestured at her. “Go on. Take a look.”</p><p>He trailed behind while Katya explored the house, silently observing as she inspected appliances and electronics, touched the fixtures and the furniture, and moved around the perimeter of each room to admire the space. She left the girls’ bedrooms a healthy mystery, refusing to infringe on their privacy. Katya tickled a little gold and white pom-pom affixed to Alyssa’s bedazzled door and then moved on, wondering if the two girls would ever grow to like her. Or tolerate her. She didn’t ask Karl, because it was a vain question and she knew his answer would tell her nothing but what she wanted to hear.</p><p>In the turret, the one empty room overlooked the back lawn and garden. Loosening his cuffs, Karl lingered in the doorway while she scuffled around the octagonal space and glanced out the window at the big blue pool below.</p><p>“I like this,” she said, the odd geometry soothing her nerves.</p><p>“If you want the room, it's yours,” he replied, “It’s been empty for years. The girls won’t step foot in it.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Ginger had some cockamamie psychic brought in,” he guffed, “He told her this room was sitting on a ley line or some such nonsense, that he could speak to Lillian Gish of all people.”</p><p>Now she <em>had</em> to have it, though Katya doubted the girls’ avoidance of the room had anything to do it's supernatural qualities rather than it’s reminder of their mother’s absence.</p><p>“Good spot to play fiddle,” she observed, surprised he hadn’t adopted the space for himself.</p><p>“You know I don’t play anymore, sweetheart.”</p><p>“You should,” she encouraged.</p><p>He smiled. “No. That one time for you was an<em> exception</em>.”</p><p>Back in Nashville, in the early 90s, Karl played in Ginger’s band before her career took off. Then he turned manager, and left the strings to gather dust. Katya thought it was a shame.</p><p>She remembered sitting cross-legged on her pallet in trashy lingerie while Karl, red-faced and lethargic, rummaged around for his old violin. He played her Shostakovich. When he was finished, and she clapped for him, his face got even redder. It was the only time she’d ever made him blush.</p><p>“You are very good,” she said, writing her name in the dust on the windowsill.</p><p>“Yes,” he said, as if resenting his own talent, “Don’t remind me.”</p><p>Katya visited the master bedroom last, and was absolutely gobsmacked by the size. She could have fit her entire shitty Slotsevno studio in the room. When she swept into the adjoining bathroom, she could’ve cried at the walk-in shower and freestanding tub.</p><p>From the other room, he called out to her, “So, you’ve seen it all. What do you think?”</p><p>Grinning, Katya swept back into the bedroom and pranced over to the bed, sitting on the edge.</p><p>“Do you like it?”</p><p>“Yes,” she said, grinning and bouncing once, “Very much.”</p><p>Karl still darkened the doorway, watching her. A thick and expectant quiet settled between them. Shifting her shoulders, Katya spread her hands over the mattress and stared back at him.</p><p>“I sent Kasha and Tempest home,” he said.</p><p>“Oh, did you?”</p><p>He laughed, unbuttoning his collar. “I'm not used to this. You make me nervous.”</p><p>She smiled, wiggling her shoulders. “Because I am communist?”</p><p>“Because you’re very beautiful.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes, looming her hair over a shoulder. “<em>Blegh."</em></p><p>In her experience, 'beautiful' was merely a line with a hook at the end.</p><p>His bronze face creased into a smile. “It’s the truth!”</p><p>“You are surrounded by beautiful women here.”</p><p>“I am. You’re right,” he admitted readily, “We both are, aren’t we?”</p><p>“Clearly, it has not escaped my notice,” she said, tensing up again.</p><p>She knew telling him about her tryst with Sasha would have consequences. Predictably, he’d been stuck on it ever since. However, after so many years of suppressing her Little Secret, she'd begun to take a twisted symbiotic comfort in divulging all her hidden fantasies and desires to him. She liked being honest. She liked being shameless. He liked it too.</p><p>“I've told you. Whoever you want. Whatever you want. I want you to have everything,” he said, sounding less intimidated by the second, "So long as I’m the one providing for your happiness.”</p><p>“The biggest mistake of your life,” she joked.</p><p>“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.</p><p>She noticed the careful way he chose his words with her. After all, he worked in binding contracts. Every exchange was a play for money, time, information—all engineered for his benefit. With him, she chose her words carefully as well.</p><p>Although his eyes were magnetized to her, Karl still hadn’t moved from his station at the door. Maybe he was just working up the nerve, waiting for a pill to kick in. Maybe he was just waiting on her word like he'd always done before, even with her sitting on his bed and beholden to him, and she didn’t expect such a rush of genuine excitement at holding his reins like this—but she did. Imagine that.</p><p>Katya spread her palms across the mattress, shifting her shoulders with an inviting smile.</p><p>“Do you want to touch me now, <em>kozol</em>?”</p><p>Immediately, he moved toward her.</p><p>“Yes,” he breathed, as if relieved of a great burden, “Very much.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, I like to insert flashbacks at the 11th hour. Don't come at me. I can't help it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Girlfriend Experience</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From her bed, Trixie watched the sunlight bouncing off the lacquered cherry wood of the guitar propped against the far wall. The Hummingbird Gibson was her favorite of her new collection of custom guitars. She loved the dimensions of the deep red wood and the little engraved strawberries haloing the rosette. She loved its rich, almost decadent, timbre and sound. For once in her life, she didn’t mind the extra weight. </p><p>Compelled, Trixie rolled out of bed and grabbed the neck. She retreated back into the covers and cuddled the instrument between her crossed legs. She always used to play snuggled in her blankets—but not so much anymore. </p><p>Hesitantly, Trixie started to play a little Nothing, comforted that Nothing could become Something with a little time and effort. She didn’t think about the song as she strummed. She felt out each note, leaned into every silly whim. She played for a while, losing track of time until her growling stomach interrupted the easygoing flow.</p><p>Her phone said 10:00AM. </p><p>Weird. </p><p>She hadn’t heard a peep out of Katya, who was a certified psycho morning person. </p><p>After brushing her teeth, Trixie took a moment in front of one of the full length mirrors to fiddle with her ponytail. She adjusted her tits in the shelf of her camisole and pulled the hem of her pyjama shorts to cover the peeking cheeks of her ass. Once presentable, Trixie wandered out. </p><p>All the lights were still off. No fire. No one in the kitchen. Quiet. Perfectly still. </p><p>Did she leave? No, she wouldn’t without saying ‘goodbye’ first. Was she still sleeping then? </p><p>Padding down the hall, Trixie knocked first and then opened the door. </p><p>“Katya?”</p><p>In front of the glass walls and the bright greenery beyond, mounds of soft white sheets tumbled over the mattress like snowy hills. A pale woman slept face-down in the vale. Ass-out. Completely naked. With a sleepy sigh, Katya turned over and blinked awake.</p><p>“Oh. Sorry,” Trixie blabbed, mortified, “I was just...checking on you.”</p><p>Unfazed, Katya sat up and bundled the sheets around her shoulders. She scratched at her crimpy, curly mess of hair. Her cheeks were unusually blotchy. She looked like she’d been crying.</p><p>“You can come in,” she said, voice hoarse with sleep, “if you want.”</p><p>Hesitantly, Trixie stepped into the room and sat at the edge of the bed, suddenly very nervous to be so close to her. Trixie stared at her socked feet and wiggled her toes. This was so stupid. C’mon, like she hadn’t seen a naked woman before? Like she hadn’t caught glimpses of Katya in various states of undress?</p><p>Still....it felt different this time. </p><p>“You look like shit,” Trixie chuckled softly. </p><p>With a grim laugh, Katya agreed. “I feel like shit. I am shit. I am a shit person.”</p><p>“Welcome to the human race.”</p><p>“Yes,” Katya said, with a melancholy, “<em>Hello</em>.”</p><p>Pivoting, Trixie folded her legs onto the bed. “She’ll be okay, Katya. She’ll bounce back.”</p><p>“I know she will. She’s Violet,” Katya said, admiration evident as ever, “But...just because she can take the hit, does not make it fair to punch her. God, it may make it worse….”</p><p>“Do you think she’ll tell anyone?”</p><p>“Like who?”</p><p>“I don’t know...the glitterati? TMZ?”</p><p>“A gossip rag? Absolutely not.”</p><p>“Her lawyer? Somebody above Karl?”</p><p>She waved her hand. “You let me worry about those things, Trixabelle.”</p><p>“I don’t <em>want</em> you to worry, Katya.  I wanna make sure you’ll be okay. This won’t blow back on you, right? Like with Karl?”</p><p>“Karl already knows what happened here, silly,” Katya said, disdain edging into her voice, “He knew before I left home. I told you. He knows everything.”</p><p>Although Trixie could be stubborn about clinging to her own misery, she really couldn’t fathom why Katya insisted on remaining inside her gilded cage when she held the fucking key in her hand. It made no goddamn sense.</p><p>“Are you <em>really</em> just gonna spend the rest of your life with Karl?”</p><p>“The rest of his life, at least,” she snorted.</p><p>Trixie was not amused.</p><p>“We get along. We have a way. We have good times,” Katya explained, “And even he manages to wrangle a real orgasm out of me every now and then.”</p><p>Trixie made a face. “I<em> literally</em> hate everything you’re telling me right now, just so you know.”</p><p>Katya shrugged. “It is the truth.”</p><p>“So, I have to wait until he’s stone-cold-dead, and we both qualify for AARP, to…?”</p><p>Trixie shut her mouth before she got too carried away, too crazy. Just because Katya knew the depth of her feelings didn’t mean Trixie had to bathe her in them. Besides, she was sick of holding onto rose-tinted Somedays, like she’d done all her fucking life since her first conscious desire for something better. She was sick of being so hungry all time. </p><p>“It sounds like I’m begging,” Trixie sighed, tears pricking at her eyes, “Feels like I’m always begging for<em> something</em>. At home. With the label. With Vi. With Max. With <em>you</em>.”</p><p>“Trixie.”</p><p>Katya reached out. Her fingertips danced along Trixie’s jawline. The skin tingled where she touched, and heat rose into Trixie’s cheeks. She blushed so easily around her. Her head was always so hot. Katya inched closer, and Trixie swallowed hard.</p><p>“You have never needed to beg for me,” Katya said, eyes darting to her lips, “Since the moment we met at the restaurant...That is also the truth.”</p><p>Trixie touched the back of her hand.  The moment felt so fragile, like it could be warped by too much force in one direction or another, like blown glass—red hot and malleable. Her brain warned her of the possibility that Katya was merely reaching out to her for comfort, a familiar distraction. Clearly, Katya was feeling vulnerable and  low and going through something—but kissing her always felt so good. Kissing her felt so <em>right.</em></p><p>“You’re not gonna pull away this time, right?” Her voice was a whisper.</p><p>Katya shook her head and closed the small distance between them. All the tension in Trixie’s shoulders melted the moment Katya’s lips touched hers. Trixie felt like a shaken soda can, all stirred up and frothy and fizzing. She lost her mind in the slide and suction of Katya’s plush red lips. Her fevered heartbeat pulsed throughout her body, picking up volume in her ears and drumming between her legs where she already felt wet as a virgin, as thrilled and hypnotized by her own desires as when they were still new and overwhelming. </p><p>Katya moaned softly into her mouth, her fingers sliding down her neck. She was just as keyed-up as Trixie, but without the excuse of a malnourished kitten—and God,  Trixie loved that.  When Trixie licked against her tongue, Katya trembled and the sheets shimmied down her bare white shoulders.</p><p>“Trixie,” she breathed between fast kisses, holding her face, “If we do this, it has to be the only time. This has to be—”</p><p>Trixie nodded. “Our little secret?”</p><p>“Yes,” she sighed, leaning in again, her eyes half-lidded, her lips open and wet, “I will never tell. I promise. I promise.”</p><p>It was maybe (okay...definitely) the first time Trixie felt like the more even-keeled between the two of them, like Katya was at <em>her</em> mercy. </p><p>“Maybe we shouldn’t then,” Trixie murmured, testing her luck, “Would that be easier for you, baby?”</p><p>She swept the sheets off Katya’s back and ran her fingers down the channel of her spine, pressing into the dimples of her lower back.</p><p>“N-no,” Katya said, shaking her head—as if Trixie could possibly deny her now. </p><p>Looking her over, Trixie literally gulped. (Embarrassing, but true.)  Katya may have been joking when she’d boasted about having a ‘perfect’ pair, but she hadn’t been lying either. While Trixie stared all slack-jawed-stupid, Katya swept her hair onto the crown of her head and stuck out her tongue to strike a saucy pose. She laughed and let go. Her hair fell in a glorious mess.</p><p>“You too,” she said, grinning, “Take it off. Chop, chop.’</p><p>Too electrified to be nervous or self-conscious, Trixie pulled her camisole over her head and tossed it aside. Katya hummed deep in her throat. She pounced on her, tackling her against the clouds of sheets. Trixie laughed against Katya’s mouth but choked on her giggles when Katya wrenched the scrunchie out of her hair and palmed her breasts. Her forceful kisses became slower and longer and Trixie melted into them. She locked her legs around Katya’s bare waist and her restless hips rolled against her torso, desperate for friction. All she could hear was their frenzied breath, the wet smack of their lips, the rustling of the sheets as they writhed around together. She couldn’t get enough. </p><p>Mouthing her neck and collarbone, Katya tyued at Trixie’s tiny pyjama shorts. </p><p>“<em>Ohfuck</em>,” Trixie gasped, as Katya slipped lower to suck mewling kisses over the slope of her breast.</p><p>She gripped fistfuls of Katya’s hair as she swirled her tongue over Trixie’s pebbled nipple. The graze of her teeth made her whine, arching against her. Katya smiled against her breast but didn’t linger, moving lower, dragging her tongue over her navel. Her thumbs skimmed circles around Trixie’s hip bones, spreading her thick thighs and settling herself between them with a wide Cheshire grin. </p><p>God, Trixie was gonna be a goner the second Katya’s tongue touched her pussy. She knew it. She was so turned on, she couldn’t keep her breath under control. She could feel the<em> wet</em> slicking down her inner thighs. </p><p>Seeing Katya’s pretty face hovering between her open legs, a mischievous glint in her stupid diamond eyes, Trixie just wanted to hold her there and buck against her until she made an absolute mess of that pretty face. She didn’t know whether that was an expression of some hidden resentment, or simply her torrential lust boiling over, but she wanted Katya soaked, blissfully destroyed. It burned in her bones like nothing else. </p><p>With a smug hum, Katya squeezed Trixie ass, sending shockwaves tingling up and down her body. </p><p>“These cheeks haunt my dreams,<em> kukolka</em>,” Katya breathed, her grin wide and white before she licked her lips and sighed, “I want you so much, Trixie. I always...I think about you all the time.” She kissed the white stripes gleaming across Trixie’s inner thighs. “Whenever I need to come quick. I think he knows.”</p><p>Trixie’s clit felt like a jackhammer, like an armed torpedo, like it could escape her body somehow. So unbearable and so wonderful, she could’ve howled at the moon. </p><p>Over the past year or so, she’d only gotten off when she imagined herself getting dicked-down by faceless blonde beauties—amorphous fantasy women she knew, in her heart of hearts, were surrogates for Katya. Trixie wanted to get fucked raw, sweating and gasping for air. She’d wanted to know what it felt like to be Violet, to be Katya’s girl, to let her work her wonders all over her body, to have Katya use her like a little plaything.  </p><p>But now?</p><p>Trixie sat up suddenly. Katya slunk back, confused. </p><p>Trixie didn’t want what Violet had with her. She wanted something all her own. She wanted things her way. She wanted to fuck Katya stupid, burn out her synpases and make her forget about all the drama with Violet and her peculiar arrangement with Karl and all the other shit roiling around in her weird little brain.</p><p>With little resistance, Trixie pushed Katya back against the mattress. She pinned her there. Crushed against her chest, Trixie locked their fingers and coaxed Katya’s hands over her head. Heavy-eyed, Katya squirmed against her in complete naked surrender, as if this was what she’d wanted from her all along. Right from the start.</p><p>Trixie kissed her gently, even as her grip tightened on her fingers. Gently, Katya squeezed her back. Trixie’s hair veiled their faces, so close Trixie needed to cross her eyes to look into hers—which she did, just to hear her hoarse laugh. The press of her tits warmed Trixie all over.</p><p>“I don’t want to lose you after this,” Katya whispered up at her, her breath puffing against her face.</p><p>“You won’t. It’s okay,” Trixie whispered back, nuzzling into her neck.</p><p>“Please. Please be my friend.”</p><p> “I am. I will. I promise.”</p><p>She didn’t understand Katya’s angst, or her steadfast attachment to Karl, but Trixie could accept it. She knew what she was getting into. Right now, she didn’t care about any of it. She loved her so much it felt like her heart had gotten heavier, pronounced within her ribs. </p><p>Trixie ran her hands over Katya’s gorgeous red-tipped breasts and her tight stomach, right between her legs to finally <em>feel</em> her dripping wet. </p><p>“Oh,” Trixie gasped.</p><p>Scooping her fingers, Trixie pressed her full palm against her and rubbed her puffy pink lips. On reflex, Katya’s leg shot upward and she shut her eyes with a desperate mewl, as if Trixie’s soft touch had unraveled her already—and honestly? It was one of the sexiest things she’d ever heard. </p><p>Steadying her, Trixie squeezed the muscle of her thigh and entered her slowly. Katya circled her hips slowly but deliberately, matching Trixie's fingers as they slowly pistoned in and out of her, squelching with each pump outward as Trixie circled and rubbed her needy little clit with her thumb. She leaned over to kiss her.</p><p>“Congrats on the tight hole,” she whispered against her mouth. </p><p>Katya broke away with a breathless laugh. “You are a <em>monster</em>.”</p><p>Trixie’s answering laugh died in her throat when Katya locked eyes with her and  grabbed her wrist, working herself against Trixie’s fingers as her mouth shuddered open.</p><p>‘Jesus,” Trixie croaked. </p><p>Fuck, she needed to touch herself—but she knew one good rub and flick would send her into space. She gripped Katya’s waist harder.</p><p>“I love your hands,” Katya sighed into the mattress, “I forget about your tough fingertips, and then you hold my hand…”</p><p>Her pulsing body squeezed around Trixie’s fingers, even wetter and easier than before. Her nails dug desperately into Trixie’s wrist, pulling until Trixie reluctantly retreated from her pussy. </p><p>Katya brought Trixie’s slick fingers to her lips and kissed them. Trixie slipped them into her mouth and shivered all over. She remembered that first meeting in the bathroom of The Library, after Katya caught her ‘spying,’ and pressed against the flat of Katya’s tongue as she sucked her fingers clean.</p><p>“Jesus…”</p><p>Apparently, that’s all she could say: Jesus, Jesus, <em>Jeez-Louise</em>—like she actually believed in God. Maybe she should start: Usually, she never shut up. Miracles could happen. Katya was living proof as far as Trixie was concerned. </p><p>She slipped her fingers from Katya’s lips and ran her hands to her breasts, tweaking her nipples with the tough fingertips she loved so much. </p><p>“Let me touch you,” Katya pleaded, arching her back and pressing into her hands.</p><p>‘Not yet,” Trixie answered.</p><p>“You are so beautiful, Trixie. It makes me nuts.”</p><p>Smiling, Trixie tugged on her hair. “You’re already nuts.”</p><p>“Maybe.” She tickled her toes against Trixie’s ankle, then slid her foot up her calve. </p><p>God, Trixie just wanted to taste her. </p><p>Holding Katya’s hips, she slid onto her stomach as Katya’s legs fell open for her. Facing her soaked pink pussy, hearing her breath harshen in anticipation, Trixie suddenly felt the nerves erupting in her belly. She hadn’t given head in a while. Max could tolerate a couple fingers every now and then, but she hated whenever Trixie tried eating her out. (And good fucking luck getting her to reciprocate.) She had no idea if she was any good at it anymore—and for Katya, she wanted to be the best. </p><p>Katya grabbed a handful of her hair. </p><p>“Trixie,’ she pleaded again, her accent thicker than ever, “Please. <em>Pozhaluista.</em>”</p><p>That was all the encouragement she needed. </p><p>Trixie dove in, kissing her and licking her and rubbing against her with the bridge of her nose until her thighs trembled. She mouthed her like she was starving for her—because she was, she <em>was</em>—and sucked on her bud with a moan that echoed tenfold from the woman beneath her. </p><p>With little pants, Katya circled her hips, grinding against her face. Both hands pulled on Trixie’s hair like lifelines, like reins, as she plunged her fingers back into Katya’s welcoming body. With a few pumps and a firm crook of her fingers, Trixie felt her coming before she announced it with a low growl, her sweaty thighs clamping against Trixie’s ears. Trixie drank her in and llcked her down until Katya sighed, releasing her. </p><p>Katya sunk deep into the mattress, all limp and flushed from her high cheeks to her tits, a hand flung over her face. Katya pulled her arms over her head and stretched, looking at Trixie so lovingly—as if she’d just done her a great favor. </p><p>Thumbing the sides of her drenched mouth, Trixie sucked on her bottom lip for more of the sweaty-sweet taste of her.</p><p>“I have not been able to cum in weeks,” Katya panted, “<em>Weeks</em>.”</p><p>“Seriously?” Trixie traced a filigree on her thigh, trying to hide her pride when Katya nodded sleepily. </p><p>“<em>Seeri-ass-ly</em>,” Katya said, mimicking her accent. Trixie used to think she was making fun of her—but she soon realized Katya tried on accents as if trying on clothes, testing all limits and possibilities of her identity. “It is anxiety, I think.” </p><p>Trixie flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Maybe it’s just me.”</p><p>Katya smiled, slow and wide. “Maybe it is you.”  She sat up, crawling up to her as if her limbs were filled with syrup. “Is it my turn now?”</p><p>Trixie’s entire body <em>pounded </em>with ‘yes,’ ‘yes,’ ‘yes,’ but Trixie could only nod, kissing her again. Katya smirked, circling her finger as instruction to turn around. Trixie’s legs trembled as she got down on all fours, slumping her chest against the bed and captivating Katya with her ass. Immediately, Katya snagged a cheek and squeezed. </p><p>“Take it easy on me,” Trixie teased, her voice catching as Katya bit her lip and gave her a little wiggle and smack. </p><p>“Oh. Not a chance, honey,” Katya said.</p><p>It was exactly what she wanted to hear.</p><p>#</p><p>Bleary-eyed and boneless, Trixie flopped over onto her back and caught her breath in the aftermath. With a limp hand, she fanned her red chest and stared at the ceiling beams as pure pleasure worked through her body, touching every cell and atom. After so long without being touched, she’d held up pretty well for having her ass eaten and her pussy licked and finger-fucked to absolute oblivion by the woman of her dreams. (Though she’d never call her that to her face.) </p><p>Smiling, she glanced at Katya heaving beside her, her entire body glistening with sweat. She raked her hair back, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes, </p><p>“I’m pregnant,” Katya blurted out. </p><p>Trixie barked a laugh, nudging her shoulder. </p><p>“Yeah,” she sighed, totally on cloud nine, “Me too.”</p><p>Then, it was quiet. </p><p>It was very quiet.</p><p>Trixie looked at her, and Katya’s face….</p><p>Trixie bolted upright, the blood rushing to her head before draining from her face. </p><p>“Wait. You’re...<em>what</em>? You’re…?”</p><p>Katya nodded.</p><p>“Oh my God.<em> Oh my God.”</em></p><p>Shell-shocked, Trixie sat stalled in silence for a moment before her brain whirred to life again, formulating possible solutions and action plans and arguments against. She pushed her sweaty curls from her face. </p><p>“You told Vi this? Last night?”</p><p>“Yes,” she said softly, as if bracing for another explosive reaction.</p><p>“We can get you out of this,” Trixie said, “We can...He can’t make you have it, Katya. This is America...well, this is <em>California.</em> We can make some calls, get you an appoint—”</p><p>“Stop. Please. Trixie. Stop.” </p><p>Katya sat up, pulling the sheets to her chest. At her pained expression, Trixie shut her mouth. Katya twiddled her thumbs in her lap. </p><p>Oh. no. </p><p>Oh, goddammit. </p><p>“A kid, Katya? Seriously? A chy-eld? You are going to birth an <em>infant human</em>?”</p><p>Katya narrowed her eyes. “I know what 'pregnant' means, Trix.”</p><p>“Sorry. I’m just...I’m….You’re telling me this right now? Right <em>now</em>? Seriously?”</p><p>“I knew things would change between us after I told you.”</p><p>“And this hasn’t?” Trixie frantically motioned between the two of them, buck naked in bed together.  </p><p>Katya straightened her shoulders. “Would it have made any difference if you knew? Would it have changed anything? We both wanted each other. We both...care for each other. We knew it would happen someday.”</p><p>“Maybe you knew. I didn’t,” Trixie retorted, “But that’s the way it is with you. You hold all the cards, all the time. You have no secrets, except when you have all of them.”</p><p>“I need <em>some </em>secrets, Trixie.”</p><p>“Not with me you don’t! I want to know what’s going on with you. All of it. Any of it. Because I care about you. Not because it gets me off.”</p><p>“I am not going to defend Karl to you.”</p><p>“Good! Because he deserves no defense!”</p><p>Katya smiled, squeezing her palm. “No, because you are a hung jury, (little star).”</p><p>Trixie sighed, giving up. </p><p>Katya smoothed out an archipelago in the sheets.  “Do you...regret it now?”</p><p>Trixie wanted to regret it. It would be easier to add ‘<em>Hooking Up with Katya’</em> to her long list of life lessons masquerading as mistakes—but she knew she’d dream about Katya wrapped up in bed, looking at her with flushed cheeks and swollen lips, in the weightless moments before sleep and not regret a thing.</p><p>“Well, now we’ve done it, right? Like, that’s it. Over and done,” Trixie said, ignoring the sinking feeling in her chest, “Good thing it was so horrible.”</p><p>Katya smirked. “Yes. Awful,” she played along, “Worst fuck of my life.”</p><p>‘And we should never <em>ever</em> have sex again,” Trixie chuckled, even though the joke felt like committing seppuku or something. </p><p>They both fell quiet, catching each others’ eyes in their mutual lie. </p><p>Katya was right: Things had changed between them. </p><p>“When did you—? You can’t be far along. You can’t be.”</p><p>“Two months. One week. Two days. Five hours.”</p><p>“Oh, wow.”</p><p>She lifted a finger to her lips. “How long without cigarette.”</p><p>Trixie stared at the center of Katya’s torso.</p><p> “...A-are you scared?”</p><p>With a shaky smile, Katya grimaced. </p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” she whispered, her eyes welling, “It scares me how much I feel for it already. Barely anything, and also <em>everything</em>.”</p><p>Trixie took her hand. </p><p>“Don’t be scared of that. That’s how it <em>should</em> feel. I think,” she murmured, because she certainly couldn’t speak for her own mother, “It’s natural to love something you’ve made, right? I would worry more about the...whole body horror aspect.”</p><p>“Oh, the blood and guts does not bother me,” Katya said with a teary wink, “And I can not wait to get big and fat!”</p><p> “You<em> would</em>,” Trixie said, rolling her eyes and somehow still charmed.</p><p>Katya took a calming breath. “I call it The Creature Feature.”</p><p>With a weak laugh, Trixie admitted, “...That’s kinda funny.”</p><p>“I never think about things before I do them, Trixie, but the baby...I thought about it,” Katya said, before she reconsidered, “Okay, I thought about it enough that I did not care if it happened when I knew it might.”</p><p>“But why? You’ve never said anything about kids, except when they scream at brunch.”</p><p>Children always made Trixie nervous. She never knew what to say, so she kept her distance. Better to never engage with kids than inadvertently harm them somehow. She thought Katya felt similarly. Maybe she was just projecting there too.</p><p>Katya touched her thigh.</p><p>“Trix, the vacation to Greece with Karl’s family? It was the best time of my life,” Katya confessed, her eyes soft, “I was so happy every day. We were all so happy together. It felt like I <em>belonged </em>somewhere. Now, both the girls are gone. Karl and I have that whole house. What are we going to do?” She huffed a laugh. “Get a labradoodle?”</p><p>She was in it for the long haul.</p><p>“So, you’re just gonna have one big happy family,” Trixie murmured, her voice hollow. </p><p>“Not big! Not big,” Katya piped up, lifting a finger, “Once is enough. Only one.”</p><p>Trixie understood why Violet was so pissed: It felt like an abandonment, a betrayal somehow, a waste—but of <em>what</em>, Trixie couldn’t say. </p><p>“I feel safe,” Katya said then, “I am taken care of.”</p><p>“And someone else couldn’t do that? Only <em>him</em>?”</p><p>“You have a life ahead of you that you have been working towards,” Katya said, imploring her with a wry smile, “You can not cart around a world-weary pregnant Russian whore, Beatrice.” </p><p>Trixie wouldn’t budge. “That’s not how I see it. Or <em>you</em>. You didn’t make some kind of iron-clad <em>blood-oath</em> to him, Katya.”</p><p>Her eyes widened. “Oh, I wish.”</p><p>Trixie rolled her eyes, but then let go of the argument with a sigh. </p><p>Last year, both Violet and Karl warned her not to fall for Katya. Trixie thought the two of them were being territorial, jealous, possessive. Now Trixie saw herself caught in the same vile trap of wanting Katya entirely and not having any of her completely—and feeling indignant about it  when she had no right to be. She’d been so hyper-focused figuring out her own hopes and desires, what did she know of Katya’s?  She hadn’t considered any possibility of Katya’s world not aligning with her own; and now, her Manic Pixie Dream Ghoul was pregnant and her mind was made up to return to the order of her life before all this drama began—and Trixie couldn’t hold it against her.</p><p>It was her life. It was her choice to make. </p><p>After all this heavy petting, and even heavier conversation, Bamb felt like she’d opened a chakra or cracked a joint or something. It wasn’t just a sex thing. She felt like she was seeing things clearly for the first time, and it hurt more than she’d ever imagined. </p><p>Trixie snapped her scrunchie onto her wrist.</p><p>“I’m gonna take a shower,” she chirped, breaking the silence. </p><p>She needed some time alone. </p><p>Trixie slid off the bed, her legs quaking as she grabbed her tank and shorts off the floor. </p><p>“Use this one,” Katya suggested, tilting her head toward the en-suite, “The jets will pummel your bones into jelly.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Katya gave her a reassuring smile. “I will order breakfast. Okay?”</p><p>Trixie smiled back “Okay.”</p><p>As soon as she shut the bathroom door, Trixie twisted the knob in the walk-in to max heat and fell back against the door. She crumpled her pyjamas to her chest as the swirling steam clouded the room and she let herself cry. </p><p>While she stood under the water, Trixie waited for the click of the door, for Katya’s silhouette to appear in the mist to break some new rules, but it never happened. </p><p>And strangely, Trixie was thankful for it. She didn’t know if she could handle letting go a second time.</p><p># </p><p>After they shared a quiet breakfast, Katya received a phone call from a <em>T. Higashio</em>, which she answered with an alertness that conveyed his importance. Though Trixie couldn’t understand a lick of Japanese, she gave Katya her privacy and excused herself to the front porch with her guitar in hand.</p><p>With one foot pushing, she rocked on the swing while she played. Her fingers moved in baroque patterns, over-embellishing every note and flourish. Her fingertips absolutely<em> killed</em> as she played, but she welcomed the pain. They would harden with time. </p><p>Although she’d lost track of time, Trixie stopped playing once she figured she’d been outside long enough to cover Katya’s phone call. When she stepped back inside, she noticed Katya’s bag sitting beside the front door. She wished Katya would’ve asked for help.</p><p>Still on the phone, Katya draped her body languidly over the kitchen counter. She tapped her nail against an orchid petal and watched it bounce in front of her face.</p><p>“It is what it is,” she sighed into the receiver, listening for a beat before she explained, “Some years-long grudge between marketing and creative. They pulled the plug.”</p><p>Still unaware of Trixie’s presence, Katya listened on the phone and swayed her hips to a silent rhythm.</p><p>“A few hours,” she answered into her cell, so relaxed and banal that it had to be Karl on the other line, “You choose. Nothing fancy. I don’t want to dress.”</p><p>Katya waited and then smiled against the screen. </p><p>“Mmm, <em>no,</em>” she said, although her tone sounded more like <em>Try Again</em>. Her nail sprung the petal some more. </p><p>Hearing his alternative, she popped up on her heels and murmured, “Oh, that sounds nice. Do we have everything you need?”</p><p>They were making dinner plans.</p><p>In a short while, Katya would return home to her husband, her house, her life just as she’d fashioned it. The reality check didn’t just sting—it ached—but there was nothing Trixie could do except feel it and let the pain pass through. She could do that for her. More importantly, she could do that for herself.</p><p>When Katya noticed her, she straightened up and lowered her voice. “Mmhmm. Okay. Bye.”</p><p>She hung up and slid the phone into her leggings.</p><p>Trixie set her guitar aside. “Everything alright in The Land of the Rising Sun?”</p><p>“No,” Katya said, downcast, “They canceled the whole project. Not even a demo.”</p><p>“Oh, Katya, I’m sorry,” Trixie said, knowing how hard she’d worked, “What does that mean for you?”</p><p>“It means my character designs will never see the light of day. Or...screen However you want to phrase it.” </p><p>“There’ll be others. I’m sure of it.”</p><p>“Hmm. Maybe.” She twirled a hand and then quickly changed the subject. “You sounded good out there!”</p><p>“It’s too much,” Trixie demurred, “Just following every urge and impulse.’</p><p>Like decorating with all those stupid flowers. </p><p>“It was beautiful, Trixie,” Katya insisted, just the same as Max’s house party, “It was.”</p><p>“I’ll never be able to sell it.”</p><p>“Is that always the goal when you make music?”</p><p>“No,” Trixie pouted, kicking at the edge of the sherpa rug, “But that’s my problem. That’s the issue.”</p><p>“Or maybe the opposite,” Katya suggested, “Money should be motivational, never<em> inspirational</em>.”</p><p>Trixie snorted. “Thank you, Cuntfucius.”</p><p>Katya shrugged. “Sing whatever you wish to sing, Trixie. The rest is white noise.”</p><p>“The static I’m getting from your husband is pretty loud.”</p><p>With a roll of her eyes, Katya snagged her hair into a ponytail and joined her at the front door. “Then turn up your own volume, hmm?”</p><p>Katya grabbed her bag. </p><p>“Hey, no!” Trixie lunged at her. “Come on. Baby on board.”</p><p>“It weighs nothing,” she laughed, “And I am not even—“</p><p>“Just let me,” Trixie insisted, grabbing her bag. (It did not weigh <em>nothing</em>.) She turned her head to Katya’s navel.</p><p>“I still can’t believe it. Like...I hate kids. Well, not really hate,” Trixie said, adjusting the strap on her shoulder, “You know what I’m saying.”</p><p>She nodded, giving her belly a small pat. “You will like mine though.”</p><p>“There’s a first for everything,” Trixie quipped—though she knew, without a doubt, she’d end up loving The Creature Feature even if she removed herself from them. Honestly, maybe she wouldn’t want to stay away. Strangers things could happen.</p><p>Katya smiled. “Are you sure you want to stay here alone? You don’t have to.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m sure. Just a few more days. I feel like I’m finally getting somewhere. Music-wise.”</p><p>“You <em>are</em>,” Katya agreed, before nervously playing with her hair, “Have you heard from—?”</p><p>“No, not yet. Have you?”</p><p>She shook her head. “Will you check on her? Please?”</p><p>Trixie usually refused to make promises where Violet was concerned, but….</p><p>“Sure. She’s...my partner. I guess l’ll have to speak to her eventually.”</p><p>Katya cupped her cheek and then kissed it twice. </p><p>“Thank you, Trixie,’ she murmured, “For everything.”</p><p>With a wan smile, and a persistent blush, Trixie nudged open the front door.</p><p>“Hey,” she said, shrugging, “What are friends for....”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Irreconciliable Differences</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On June 20th, Trixie no sooner arrived home in Malibu and unpacked her things before she received her first text from Violet since the night she fled from Ojai. </p><p>V: hey slut you home yet?</p><p>T: Literallllly just walked thru the door</p><p>V: good come over</p><p>Not even a question: <em>Can</em> you come over? <em>Will </em>you come over? How are you, Trixie? Did you really write three new songs in a single week without me? (Why, yes I did, Vi. Yes, I fucking did, as a matter of fact.)  Trixie pressed a thumb against her text for extra emphasis and then returned to folding laundry on her bed, absently watching the wide blanket of ocean in the distance. </p><p>Her phone chimed again.</p><p>V: i have wine </p><p>T: U think i dont ?</p><p>V: Just COME OVER i want to talk</p><p>Staring at the screen, Trixie really considered leaving her ass on ‘read,’ but then….</p><p>V: please Trix. </p><p>If Violet threw out a ‘please,’ Trixie knew it had to be serious. </p><p>T: fine pop the cork </p><p>T: I’ll leave now</p><p>Let it be known: She could be a really good friend to Violet, even though she <em>had </em>fucked her ex-girlfriend within less than 24 hours after their split...but that was different. Extenuating circumstances. A long time coming. Inevitable, according to Katya. But even under the threat of death, or like...female circumcision, she wouldn’t spill that lil’ nugget of information to Violet. She’d promised to keep their little secret, and so did Katya; and as long as Katya kept her word, Trixie would too. </p><p>She’d dropped off her sputtering little car for repairs on the way back home, so called for an Uber to Violet’s instead. She wished she was driving, focusing on a task, instead of spiraling in the backseat of a heavily-perfumed sedan while the driver leered at her in the rearview mirror. </p><p>If Violet asked her, straight-up, whether she’d slept with Katya...could she lie? She absolutely would, but she was a terrible liar and Violet knew it. Violet would see her guilty face and know she’d burrowed it between Katya’s legs—that she knew what she tasted like and sounded like and felt like on the inside, and that Trixie had become tethered to the gravity of that morning, caught in endless orbit like a lost satellite or a wayward moon. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, about her, and she’d allowed her temporary insanity to guide her through her songwriting--even though she wished she’d found inspiration in anything (anyone!) else instead.</p><p>Needing the open air, Trixie cracked the window. She caught a mild huff from the driver, who then cranked the A/C so high, her nipples felt like they could cut diamonds by the time she’d arrived at Violet’s place. </p><p>At Violet’s front door, she stood paralyzed. She seriously considered fabricating a dead grandma story and calling another Uber before Violet’s voice fuzzed through the little black box affixed to her bell.</p><p> “<em>I see you standing there, pussy</em>.”</p><p>Goddammit, she forgot about Big Brother Alexa with her beady black eyes glinting all over Violet’s condo: The perks and price of her newfound celebrity. </p><p>“Well, let me in then,’ Trixie demanded, setting a hand on her hip as if she weren’t totally thinking about bailing, leaving all that ‘good friend’ stuff in the dust.</p><p>After she heard the clunk of the latch, Trixie let herself inside with all the vim and gusto of someone who actually wanted to be there.</p><p> A cardboard box from Gelson’s sat beside the front door, filled with mismatched knick-knacks that had to belong to Katya: an empty makeup bag, a heather-grey ball of socks, a very creepy little wooden gnome, and two Russian textbooks that looked preserved from the 1980s. She’d seen those books before, sore thumbs amongst Violet’s refined decor and polished tsotchkes. </p><p>Katya was always reading up on science (even the dry stuff absolutely steeped in geekspeak), and favoring any publication dealing with space and time. When Trixie had asked her why, she’d answered that “science was the natural halfway point between art and mathematics,” and Trixie thought she sounded so smart and cool and interesting for saying that. </p><p>(She still did actually.)</p><p>Trixie followed the sound of the piano, finding Violet sitting at her bench in front of the windows. Seeing her, Violet stopped playing and inched over so Trixie could take a seat next to her. On the rack, the title of her sheet music read: ‘<em>Once Bitten, Twice Shy’</em> in Violet’s crisp, clean handwriting.</p><p>“Coming along?”</p><p>“Nearly finished,” Violet said with a large breath, staring at the sheet music, “What about you? Come up with anything?’</p><p>“Actually, yeah,” Trixie reported with pride, “All of a sudden.Three compositions, just like that.”</p><p>She nodded. “Good.”</p><p>“Okay, well, don’t sound <em>too </em>excited now,” Trixie said, leery of Violet’s coolheaded poise, “We might’ve actually pulled it off, saved our hides.”</p><p>Trixie nearly fell off the bench when Patrick the Sphynx leapt onto the keyboard with a deep discordant landing, peering at her with his big round eyes. Gently, Violet lifted him off the ivories and placed the cat in her lap. She massaged her long elegant fingers into the folds of his skin. </p><p>“I quit the label,’ Violet stated, so matter-of-fact that Trixie needed a double-take.</p><p>“Excuse me, you did <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“I’m done. Finished,” Violet announced, then with a proud smirk, “I broke the news to Karl this morning.”</p><p>Trixie gaped at her. She seemed awfully chipper for smashing her own career to pieces. </p><p>“Wh—?! How’d <em>that</em> conversation go?”</p><p>“He said Saboteur planned on dropping me anyway,” Violet replied, rolling her eyes, “He said our little sojourn to Ojai wassimply a <em>favor to his wife</em>.” </p><p>On the final word, Violet drew out the sound, digging her teeth into her lower lip.  </p><p>After so many months of being an audience to Karl and Violet’s pissing contests, Trixie knew that Karl had practically weaponized the phrase “my wife,” which he routinely trotted out whenever he wanted to put Violet in her place. It always hopped her up, and he loved to see her mad.</p><p>“That’s probably not <em>completely</em> true, Vi,” Trixie said. </p><p>
“When is it ever?” Violet scoffed, “It’s probably not <em>completely</em> false either, but whatever. It still felt so fucking good to fire his ass.”</p><p>“I bet,” Trixie said, having daydreamed about the scenario herself, “but Vi...<em>your catalogue</em>. It’s fully forfeit. It’s...his now. Forever.”</p><p>“He can keep it. I don’t care.”</p><p>“But all that work….”</p><p>“Still mattered,” Violet finished, “Still made me better. Even the best song I’ve ever written won’t compare to the ones I’ll write down the road. Bet on it.”</p><p>She sounded so confident, so assured, her force of will made ten times convincing with all the talent she had to back up her claims. Violet always knew when she was being shortchanged—by Karl, by Katya, even by Trixie—and she knew it even when one else could see it. Trixie thought it was her best quality—by far. </p><p>However….</p><p>“You’re not worried about becoming a One Hit Wonder?”</p><p>“I don’t think I care about that anymore,” Violet answered, walking her fingers up the notches of hey Sphynx’s spine, “I never cared about the fame as much as being <em>the best. </em>Doing me. Delivering the way I know I can. If I can write on my own terms, I don’t care if my music ever sees the charts again.”</p><p>Yes, okay. That sounded very,<em> very</em> admirable.</p><p>However….</p><p>“Well, I wanna be famous,” Trixie said, shrugging, “I’m sorry, but I do.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know, bitch. We all know,”  Vi chuckled, rolling her eyes, “Where does that even come from, anyway? Being a backwoods bumpkin?”</p><p>“Being a Leo.”</p><p>“Except you’re <em>not</em> a Leo.”</p><p>Trixie shrugged again. </p><p>Maybe her fame-chasing was an ego thing or maybe a yearning for attention, approval, recognition. Maybe she’d wanted to be famous because the more people around her, loving her, the more protection she had against the people who might wish to do her harm. Like how family was <em>supposed</em> to work. Trixie didn’t know anything about the psychology of fame, except that she’d always wanted it for herself; and like everything in psychology, she imagined its roots stemmed from the trauma of her childhood--which, y’know, a therapist could take their pick of her troubles and find a winner every time. </p><p>“It’s a good thing you can write a hit,” Violet said, not pressing for answers Trixie, “I wish I could write something as catchy and marketable as ‘Strawberry Moon’…and that’s not a read, by the way, so don’t take it that way.”</p><p>Trixie rolled her eyes. “Vi, you hate ‘Strawberry Moon.’”</p><p>“I never said I hated the song. I hate that I was swindled into singing it. I hated that it sounded better with your voice and your guitar—and my version was the one getting all the airtime,” Violet said, “But I’m still the girl who charted with the ‘Song of the Summer,’ so the world is my oyster apparently.”</p><p>She gestured at the terrazzo coffee table littered with paperwork, and Trixie’s eyes widened.</p><p>“I called around for new representation when I got home. I’ve got two offers,” Violet told her, “And this time, I’ve got a lawyer going through all the fine print before I sign a single letter of my name.”</p><p>“Oh, shit. Wow.”</p><p>“Neither label is a kingmaker like Saboteur,” Violet admitted, “but they’ll let me do what I want. On my terms. And if they don’t? I walk. Simple.”</p><p>“Damn, you’re resilient,” Trixie breathed, “If I was you…?”</p><p>“You never will be,” Violet quipped with a small smile, “So keep dreaming.”</p><p>God, <em>of course</em> she had her next steps figured out and set into motion. </p><p>After all, at the end of the day, she was still Violet Chachki.</p><p>“I’m really happy for you,” Trixie said, touching her leg, surprised at her own relief, “Seriously. I’m so glad you’re out from under his thumb, Vi.”</p><p>Violet’s brave face faltered a bit, and Patrick bounded off her lap. “Thanks. Me too. It’s not exactly my Perfect Fantasy of how I wanted to leave Saboteur, but...I did it.”</p><p>Trixie chewed on her lip. “Have you talked to Katya yet?”</p><p>Violet stiffened at her name, scowling at her. </p><p>“Uh. <em>No</em>? I hope I never talk to her again.”</p><p>Trixie crossed her legs, balancing on the bench. “You’re gonna have to say <em>something</em> if she picks up that box by your door.”</p><p>“I should just throw it all out. It’s all stuff she forgot. She never actually<em> left </em>anything here on purpose,” she bit out, before her voice softened, “Not even a fucking toothbrush.”</p><p>“I know you guys aren’t on—-”</p><p>“Do not even <em>try</em> to <em>mediate</em> right now, Trixie, I swear to God.”</p><p>“I’m not! Trust me. I’m not. I just know...she’s always wanted to see you do well,” Trixie said, regretting it when Violet’s face fell and she ducked her head, “She’ll be happy for you too.”</p><p>“Wish I could say the same,” she grumbled, anger simmering again, “God, can you fucking believe it?” Her eyes shot up at her. “That piece of shit <em>impregnated</em> her.”</p><p>“I know. It’s, like, a true tragedy.”</p><p>“And you didn’t say <em>anything</em> to me? Nothing! That whole day we were tripping! What the hell, Trixie?”</p><p>“I didn’t know either!  She told me after...you left. Believe me, I was just as horrified. I even offered to like….” Trixie cringed. “...take her to a doctor if she wanted to get rid of it.”</p><p>“I didn’t realize she <em>wanted</em> the thing,” Violet said, “I instantly thought she was in trouble.”</p><p>“So did I!”</p><p>Violet tapped a few of the white chopsticks--ding, ding, ding---and then sighed, her arms falling to her sides. </p><p>“Bet you took the news better than I did,” she said, sounding regretful, “I completely blew up. I lost it.”</p><p>(Rather than cast the spotlight on her own <em>unique</em> experience, Trixie shrugged again.)</p><p>“I couldn’t handle it,” Violet confessed, avoiding her eyes and fingering the corner of her sheet music, “Getting dumped, hearing about Karl’s nighty-night stories, telling me she’s fucking <em>pregnant</em>. I needed to get out of there, because I knew I’d end up forgiving all of it if I stayed and listened to all her insane justifications. And that’s so fucking messy, even for me.”</p><p>Trixie smirked. “Uh, no offense?  But this whole thing has been Class-A Messy from the start, Vi.’</p><p>She took offense. </p><p>“Fuck all the way off, Trixie,” Violet snapped, her eyes blazing into hers, “As if you aren’t also embroiled in this psychosexual melodrama with your boss and his nympho wife, and haven’t been benefitting from me being the bad, unruly one who actually takes Karl to task, while you sit there with your big blonde hair and your big pink tits, all innocent and overlooked and waiting in the wings for me to fall out of favor. Don’t start.”</p><p>Chastised, Trixie raised her palms and shut her mouth. </p><p>“I get it. We were all working some kind of angle. Playing a game,” Violet said, narrowing her eyes, “Except <em>maybe </em>you.’</p><p>“Yeah,” Trixie chuckled, “because I was way too stupid to realize I was supposed to be playing one.”</p><p>Just like that: Violet cooled off again. </p><p>“When Karl ‘discovered’ me, I was completely prepared to trade a bit of my dignity for a taste of success. Like, as a necessary evil, as what I’ve been told to expect from this town,” Violet said, plunking at the keys again, “I didn’t expect...<em>Her</em>. I didn’t expect<em> Them</em>. I definitely didn’t expect to <em>catch feels</em>, ugh, but then one day...things were different. The love snuck up on me, sunk its teeth in, wouldn’t let go. I didn’t want it to. It...felt really good.”</p><p>Trixie understood. </p><p>Too well. </p><p>She swallowed the lump thickening in her throat.</p><p>“You really think you’ll never talk to her again? Not even, as like…a friend?”</p><p>Violet slapped the cover over the keys. </p><p>“I don’t <em>want </em>to be her friend, Trixie, don’t you get it? I want to<em> love</em> her. Ugh! It’s so…!”</p><p>With a sharp inhale,s, the brunette shook back her hair and regained her composure. “What I’ve learned from all this is: I am not okay with sharing. Not her. Not the music. Not anything. I’m not gonna compromise<em> anything</em> anymore.”</p><p>“Good,” Trixie repeated, “With my luck, I’ll end up ghostwriting some other hot ticket, paying more dues before I can actually record—if I ever get to record.”</p><p>“You can always ask our muse to <em>put in a good word</em>,” Violet sniped, “I’m sure he’ll listen to her. She’s always got a reason for everything, maybe she’ll come up with something for you too.”</p><p>Trixie picked at her calluses. “...She sees things her own way, Violet. You know that as much as I do.”</p><p>Violet nodded, then sighed. “Has she ever told you about her life in Russia?”</p><p>Confused by the topic turnover, Trixie shook her head. “No? Not really? Bits and pieces here and there, but she skirts around whenever I ask. We usually end up talking about me.”</p><p>Throwing back her head, Violet smirked. “Of course you do.”</p><p>Trixie pursed her lips. “Okay. Enlighten me then?”</p><p>“She came to the big city chasing her big dreams, a tale as old as time….”</p><p>Trixie waved. “Just like us. Yeah. I know all that.”</p><p>“Except, she was basically homeless? And completely alone. Sleeping around for a bed and a hot shower. Always going by different names, pretending to be different people. Sometimes she fucked up and forgot who she was supposed to be—and she said that got her in hot water….”Violet laughed a little, but it was sad and short. “I’ve been thinking about that and...It’s not completely crazy that she is the way she is. Yeah, I think she’s dead wrong about what’s gonna make her happy, but I can’t do anything about it now. Fuck. I don’t think I ever could.”</p><p>All of this was news to Trixie. </p><p>She’d always ignored the gossip about Katya, even when she knew the circulating rumors were true, and she’d never interrogated her about her past because Katya rarely wanted to talk about it. She only ever brought up her felonious goose-thieving ex-boyfriend Dmitri when he was the butt of a joke. Trixie always thought Katya’s off-color anecdotes about eccentric gangsters and menacing loan sharks were lies, because she lied about stupid shit all the time for a laugh. </p><p>Trixie never knew when to take her seriously--and she’d always liked that about Katya, who kept her guessing and kept her so interested for more. She only now realized how little she knew about someone with whom she’d felt so connected, so desperately in love, and it was uncomfortable that Violet and Karl knew more about her than Trixie. It felt wrong. </p><p>Trixie wanted to know her. She wanted to be trusted, because she could be trusted, and she wouldn’t judge her for any that bullshit. Hell, she’d probably help Katya hide a body if she ever asked. </p><p>“She never told me any of it,” Trixie murmured.</p><p>The hurt must’ve shown on her face because even Violet looked at her with pity.</p><p>“Don’t feel any way about it, Trix,” she said softly, “She just cares what you think about her. More than anybody.”</p><p>“Why do you say<em> that</em>?”</p><p>Violet rolled her eyes. “Because you’re her so-called best friend? You’re her Coca-Cola and cherry pie, Trixie, like literally the rags-to-riches American Dream. Everything she wants and everything she’s not, Including the extra pounds—”</p><p>Trixie plucked at the tighter areas of her romper. </p><p>“And she’s obsessed with you, bitch, even though she’ll never say it,” Violet said, “When you were dating that girl, Mackenzie or whatever-her-face? She could not stop talking about how much she hated her. I’ve never heard her get that mean about anyone. I’ve never seen her so...<em>obviously </em>jealous. It doesn’t take a genius to figure her out, Trixie, just a high tolerance for a heavy Russian accent.”</p><p>Trixie’s stomach fluttered; but then she remembered: Regardless of whether Violet’s version of events was the reality or not, her appraisal of Katya’s affections were weightless and worthless now. </p><p>Katya’s feelings didn’t matter, because Katya had made it so.</p><p>Trixie poked Violet’s knee. “...I actually really like her accent,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.</p><p>“Yeah, me too. It’s super hot,” Violet sighed, then with a sad smile, “We used to joke that neither of us could say the other’s name right. I was ‘Wylette’ for a little while, but then she really got the hang of her ‘v’s. It’s freaky how quickly she picks that stuff up.”</p><p>Trixie smirked. “It’s still funny whenever she tries to say ‘<em>beach</em>’ though.”</p><p>“Ugh, she’s such a fucking asshole,” Violet chuckled, running her hands up her temples, wiping her wet eyes, “Y’think your hot cousin would wanna be my rebound?”</p><p>“Um. <em>Pearl</em>,” Trixie said, pausing to emphasize her name, “is straight. Sorry.”</p><p>“Shame.”</p><p>Trixie smiled. “Yeah, well. Nobody’s perfect.”</p><p>n</p><p>An awkward silence settled between them and Violet tapped her hands against the key cover before sliding it back again. She set her thin fingers on the keys, conjuring up a melody so familiar and lodged in Trixie’s memory somewhere, it drove her crazy trying to identify it. </p><p>“You want some tea?” Violet said, continuing to confound Trixie as she played, “I’ve got a kettle on.”</p><p>“<em>Tea</em>?” Trixie pulled back. “What happened to the wine?”</p><p>“‘I opened it, but then...I didn’t feel like drinking anymore.”</p><p>Trixie straightened up, feeling mighty proud of herself when she said, “You know what? Me neither.”</p><p>And it was true.</p><p>Tea was fine. </p><p>Tea was great.</p><p>“Cool,” Violet said, nudging her shoulder as she finally sang along with the accompaniment, “<em>C’mon, Barbie...Let’s go party…</em>.”</p><p>Suddenly, it clicked. </p><p>Barbie Girl! Aqua!</p><p>Immediately, Trixie brightened, and Violet resisted a laugh. </p><p>Trixie joined her and they swayed together, singing the rest in perfect harmony, “<em>Ooh, ooh, ooh, yeah…</em>.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>One more to go! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Side-B</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Trixie stepped back from the microphone pop-screen, waiting for the thumbs-up beyond the glass before she removed her headphones and wrung them around her neck. Her hair puffed and squeezed around her cheeks. She took a quick slurp of water from the stand.</p><p>This was her third set of vocal overdubs for the week, after several days of guitar-work and harpsichord, and her throat scratched while she downed the crisp lemon water. This was her stopping point. Pushing it any further would risk damaging her voice, impeding the process, and she forced herself to recognize it. Lately, she planned her breaks as an essential part of production; because she was so excited to be doing this at all, she wanted to do more all the time and she would keep going and going until she had nothing left to give.</p><p>“Sounds good, Bea,” her mixing engineer said over com, “Great work in there. We’ll call it today and send for review.”</p><p>With the bottle pressed to her lips, Trixie gave her own thumbs-up and watched the shadows stir in the mixing bay as two silhouettes left the booth. Now alone, Trixie notched the headphones on the rack and stretched out her neck. The “send for review” part used to bother her, but Karl always signed off on whatever she sent. She hadn’t expected so much freedom from him, but perhaps Karl had learned a little something from his relationship with Violet too.</p><p>More likely, her micro-manager was preoccupied with Katya and the baby.</p><p>Given her condition, Katya was all about herself right now—and given hers, Trixie was all about herself too. She was so excited for every spent day at the studio, a satellite of Saboteur that was cozy at home in Malibu. She saw Karl in person maybe twice a month, and everything else was hands-off and electronic and blessedly cold.</p><p>In turn, she’d seen Katya very little since the ball got rolling on her album, but maybe the physical distance was best. The offer occurred so quickly after Violet’s departure from the label that Trixie needed every ounce of her energy to adjust to the pivot, and her newfound association with lawyers. (Every bad joke...how could they all be so true?)</p><p>Katya was going for an ultrasound today, hopeful she’d see a clear picture of The Creature Feature. Trixie was curious too. Seriously.</p><p>Right on cue, her cell chimed. Katya’s name and face appeared on screen. Trixie gave it a couple seconds, clearing her throat before she answered, “Hey, you.”</p><p>“You,” Katya purred back, firmly tongue-In-cheek, “I have news.”</p><p>Trixie could hear air-conditioning, a low rumble in the background. It was the hollow atmosphere of a car interior.</p><p>“Okay? I’m waiting.”</p><p>“The Creature Feature is a two-headed monster,” Katya said, very even and calm.</p><p>Trixie’s mouth dropped open. “T-two?”</p><p>“Yes. There are two of them.”</p><p>“Oh my God,” she said, “Like...twins? Are you talking about—Katya, are you having twins?!”</p><p>“Yes,” Katya confirmed, “I am having twins.”</p><p>A huge grin split Trixie’s face. “You are such a asshole. Why didn’t you <em>say that</em>? Oh my God!”</p><p>A wicked laugh escaped her then, the kind reserved for schadenfreude. Katya laughed too, but a little desperation crept into her cute wheeze. Of course Katya would end up with twins! A full litter. The Creature Feature did not disappoint with the theatrics. Trixie relaxed against the acoustic paneling, sinking into peaks of foam. She couldn’t tell if Katya was happy about the news, but she didn’t sound completely devastated about it either—just a little overwhelmed by the discovery of a stowaway.</p><p>“That is crazy,” Trixie breathed, “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yes,” she said, contemplative, “...If it gets to be too much, I can always unleash both babies into the woods and see which one comes back.”</p><p>Trixie cackled.</p><p>“Oop, he is not laughing at that one,” Katya said then, “Karl, I am joking. We don’t have woods close enough to the house.”</p><p>There was a chuckle and his voice, scolding, “It’s not a funny joke, Katya.”</p><p>“It is. It is! Trixie laughed.”</p><p>“Well, if Trixie’s laughing, then it must be funny.”</p><p>Trixie’s smile faded. She was beginning to feel like the third wheel.</p><p>“He thinks he is cock of the walk, but twins come from my family,” Katya said then, clearly talking to both of them, “My cousin Boba had this grotesque little head growing out of his neck. He used to make me kiss it for luck.”</p><p>A horrified silence followed.</p><p>“<em>Really</em>?” Trixie asked, and heard Karl echo the same question in stereo.</p><p>“Oh God,” Katya spiraled onward, ignoring them both, “do you think one will end up eating the other? How will I explain that?”</p><p>Hinging on a laugh, Trixie opened her mouth to placate her, but heard Karl speak instead: “Oh, I think that’s putting the horse before the cart, sugar.”</p><p>“It is never too early to contemplate cannibalism, <em>sakharok</em>.”</p><p>Trixie had never heard that nickname before.</p><p>“Okay, well,” Trixie mumbled into the receiver, reeling and awkward, “...I’ll let you go then, Katya. Congratulations!”</p><p>“No, Trixie,” she whined, as if it pained her to hang up now, and so Trixie hung on for a moment longer, “I miss you. I want to see you.”</p><p>Her stomach twisted, horrible and wonderful in equal measure.</p><p>“Can we go for lunch soon?”</p><p>Trixie smiled. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do lunch.”</p><p>#</p><p>Violet stared out the windows of the Waldorf Astoria. Her fingers walked along the black stripe sill, crossing the cathedral jutting out of Charlottenberg. The whole city of Berlin lit up every night, and Violet watched the beams dancing against the black sky, colors flashing from the buildings bracketing the canal.</p><p>In stilettos, Violet paced back and forth with her phone pressed against her ear, eager to hang up and go out dancing. Her electropop track, “Pins and Needles,” had shot up the dance charts across Deutschland and she wanted to enjoy her first real outing since severing from her contract with Saboteur.</p><p>She was so glad for her stay here, so glad to be away from LA. Europe was more her speed, and she wasn’t eager to return home for the holidays. She’d met so many people here, scoped out so many opportunities. She was even approached to design her own line of lingerie. The flurry of options and openings took her mind off things, kept her focused on something <em>other </em>than her broken heart.</p><p>(However, she’d come to learn that broken hearts had a hard time mending themselves.)</p><p>“I don’t know, Trixie,” she said into her phone, “Dinner at The Library? Where we all met? That’s a little heavy-handed. Even for you.”</p><p>“We’re both going regardless. I’m just extending the invite.”</p><p>“Gee. Thanks,” Violet said, rolling her eyes.</p><p>“...It doesn’t have to be a<em> thing</em>, Vi.”</p><p>“I <em>told</em> you not to play mediator,” Violet sighed, collapsing into a hotel chair and snapping one leg over the other, “...I don’t want to rehash any of the drama, Trixie. I really don’t.”</p><p>“Good. She doesn’t either.”</p><p>“I don’t need an apology. I don’t want one.”</p><p>“Honestly? I don’t think she’s planning on giving you one.”</p><p>“Katya knows you want me to crash your date?”</p><p>“It’s not a date, don’t be a dick, and <em>duh</em>. It was her idea.”</p><p>“So you’re just her little bitch now?”</p><p>“Like you would’ve picked up the phone if you saw her calling?”</p><p>“I blocked her.”</p><p>“Exactly. So, that’s why I’m asking.”</p><p>“What does she want?”</p><p>“I don’t know, to see you? She still <em>cares</em> about you,” Trixie said, irritated, “Don't shoot the fucking messenger, Vi. She asked if you were gonna be in town, and if I would ask you to come, and I said yes. So, here I am asking. <em>Chill the hell out</em>. You’ve got me fully stressed now.”</p><p>Chill out. So rich coming from Trixie (of all people) and easier said than done. It’s not like Violet high-tailed to a whole other continent to avoid seeing Katya or anything….How many months had gone by? She must be big now.</p><p>Violet scratched at the armrest, digging at threads. “Is she good? Like...healthy and everything?”</p><p>“Yeah, she’s good,’ Trixie replied gently, “Huge. You won’t believe it. Only a few weeks left.”</p><p>“Has she got any stupid names picked out?”</p><p>Violet wanted to punch herself for asking, for caring about the answer, but she couldn’t help the softness that lingered despite the distance she’d put between them, and between those two versions of herself. She’d stopped holding onto Katya—and she’d also stopped holding everything against her—but Violet wasn’t ready to let go completely. Not yet.</p><p>“Ask her yourself,” Trixie said.</p><p>Violet rolled her eyes. “I never said I’d come, Beatrice.”</p><p>“Look, I really wanna hear about Amsterdam and Berlin,” Trixie pressed, “And you know Katya would kiss your feet if she didn’t have the physique of a planet right now.”</p><p>“Aww,” Violet chuckled, imagining Katya’s physical struggle and finding it unexpectedly adorable. She thought about asking Trixie for a quick pic, but knew she’d just dangle this dinner at The Library in front of her face instead.</p><p>Bitch.</p><p>Considering, Violet bounced her foot, the insole slapping against the ball of her heel. She couldn’t hang on the phone for much longer. Marguerite, the French fire-swallower she’d been fucking for the past three days, had finally emerged from the bathroom. The redhead looked delicious in a short latex number, not-so-discreetly wiping at her nose with the edge of her thumb. She lingered by one of the mirrors, fiddling with her purse and waiting for Violet to wrap it up.</p><p>“I gotta go, Trixie.”</p><p>“Vi—’</p><p>Violet screwed her eyes shut. “Trixie, just—! Shoot me the deets next week, okay,’ she rushed out, “I’ll see if I can make it.”</p><p>“Thanks, Violet.”</p><p>“No. Promises.”</p><p>“Sure, sure. Oh, almost forgot,” Trixie said, enjoying herself now, “She’s having<em> twins</em>.”</p><p>Shooting upright, Violet planted both feet on the parquet floor and pressed the phone hot against her cheek. “She’s having <em>what</em>?”</p><p>#</p><p>For the first time in nearly two years, Violet found herself back at The Library.</p><p>Little had changed for the chic eatery: It still impressed with its sleek dark wood, exotic flowers, and the hidden koto player contributing to the restaurant’s opulent zen. The same uptight maitre des insisted on escorting her to her seat.</p><p>She recognized many of the faces gabbing around the tables: moguls, socialites, artists of every discipline. However, this time, many of them seemed to recognize her in return. Like them, she was verified, trending, a success. She lived among the stars now, instead of below them.</p><p>Violet used to fake being a Rich Bitch so well. She’d max out her credit cards for the perfect outfit, the best shoes, the right manicure and hairstyle. Fooled by the illusion, Los Angeles had always treated her well; and truthfully, when she was some no-name-skinny-ass-sorta-stripper from Atlanta, Violet used to <em>love</em> fooling all the fakers in LA.</p><p>Every moment of every day, she’d tried her best to look like she belonged at a swanky restaurant with someone as high on the food chain as Karl. Then Trixie arrived at their dinner in some poly-blend disaster, looking like Jon-Benet on HGH, and Karl and Katya both fawned over her like she was the most luminous thing they’d ever seen.</p><p>Violet hated Trixie straight away. Like, instantly.</p><p>Not so much anymore.</p><p>Not at all actually.</p><p>Nowadays, Violet counted that Big Pink Bimbo among her closest and realest friends.</p><p>Go figure.</p><p>Following the maitre des into a secluded corner of the restaurant, Violet heard Trixie’s brash cackle before she saw her and Katya seated together at a cozy table near the botanical spring. Katya nodded along and chewed, her lips pursed in an effort to keep from laughing herself. They didn’t notice her approach, but Violet wasn’t surprised. (The more things changed, the more they stayed the same….)</p><p>She took the opportunity to gawk at Katya, so obviously eating for three, and couldn’t remember a time when she looked so peaceful. People always talked about the so-called ‘glow’ of pregnancy, but it wasn’t entirely bullshit. Her color was high and healthy, her (very) long hair shone in waves of white gold, and the editorial edges of her cheekbones and jaw had been buffed away with the extra weight. She looked gorgeous, but not in any way that would inspire the dagger-plunge of passion in Violet’s heart.</p><p>She had no sharp feelings. No pangs of loathing, or lust. She felt nothing like she’d expected from seeing an ex-lover, her in particular.</p><p>Seeing Katya swollen with a pair of Capricorns, Violet knew it was over for good, like she could finally put the punctuation at the end of a long diary diatribe and move on to the next romantic catastrophe. It was an immense relief.</p><p>“There she is. Fashionably<em> late</em>,” Trixie teased, twirling her fork at Violet before nibbling on a bright bloody beet.</p><p>“I wasn’t sure if I was gonna show,” Violet replied, edging forward in her chair. She dismissed the host with an order for an extra-dry martini and then met Katya’s eyes. The blonde sipped on sparkling water.</p><p>“Hi, Katya.”</p><p>“Hi, Vi,” she said gently, almost shy, “I am glad you came.”</p><p>It was bizarre to hear her voice after so long without contact.</p><p>Violet didn’t realize how much she’d missed it.</p><p>Trying her best not to watch them, Trixie poked around her salad.</p><p>“You look wonderful,” Katya said.</p><p>“So do you,” Violet said, hoping her tone conveyed her sincerity—however cautious, “...It’s good to see you, Yekaterina.”</p><p>“It is good to see you too, Vi,” she said, looking her straight in the eye, “I hope we can do this again, sometime, maybe?”</p><p>Katya tilted her head and laid her hand on the table, as if to bridge the way between them and make peace—and only Violet noticed Karl’s rock glinting off her ring finger.</p><p>“We’ll see,” Violet said sweeping back her hair.</p><p>If nothing else, she’d unblock Katya’s number.</p><p>They’d take it from there.</p><p>#</p><p>Head tilted back, Trixie nudged her sunglasses up her forehead and squinted up at the moon— a mirage of a disk disguised against the cloudless Tiffany-blue sky. She stretched her bare legs on the lounger, reapplying sunscreen to the over-warm skin, long since dried from her brief dip in Katya’s pool.</p><p>Beside her, the lady of the house sighed loudly.</p><p>“I wish I could be in my bikini,” Katya pouted, sitting on the lounger in five-inch stilettos and a Gaultier cocktail dress, “I wish I could stay with you. Them.”</p><p>Katya tilted her head toward the diapered twins seated in the lawn behind them. Peter and Tabitha cooed at each other, ripping blades of grass with their chubby little fists.</p><p>Few new mothers would bitch about a night on the town, dressed in couture, and even fewer would wish for Katya’s tiny bikinis so casually. She barely looked any different from her pre-pregnancy days, besides the hair she’d chopped above her shoulders. Trixie wanted to tease her for complaining, but seeing her gaze upon her children with that expression of pure love, pure devotion, stopped her from razzing.</p><p>Katya turned back to her, resting her chin on the heel of her hand. “Is it too late to tell Karl I have diarrhea?”</p><p>“I’m sure one of the twins is working up a little surprise,” Trixie said, wrinkling her nose.</p><p>“They <em>are</em> shit factories, true,” Katya conceded, as if actually considering it for the sake of realism.</p><p>Trixie laughed. “C’mon, these charity benefits cannot be<em> that</em> bad.”</p><p>“Oh, they are worse than bad,” she pouted, “Absolute snake-pits, and everyone gets so <em>drunk</em>. But Karl needs to get out, start doing things again.”</p><p>Baby Peter had learned to walk, and then run, at an alarmingly early age. (Like, it was honestly kinda freaky, but Trixie would never say that to Katya, who was so proud her son had come sprinting out the womb.) Naturally, more mobility meant more trouble—and one evening, after Kasha had washed and waxed the floors, Karl went running after a bubble-bath escapee, slipped on his socks, and completely flipped it. He broke his ass—(okay, fractured his tailbone, whatever)—which was totally hilarious, but had laid him up for close to three months.</p><p>Trixie smirked. “Sick of him lounging around the house?”</p><p>“You have no idea. Since his injury, he has become so involved in all <em>this,</em>” Katya said, motioning to herself and the children and the house, “It is too much. And he refuses to go to this thing without me.”</p><p>Katya sighed, then smiled at her. “Are you—?”</p><p>Just then, Peter zoomed past them, toddling toward the edge of the swimming pool. Immediately, Katya leapt out of her heels and lunged for him. Her bare feet smacked against the concrete as she caught her balance and scooped the baby into her arms.</p><p>Relieved, Trixie pressed a hand against her fluttering heart. She relaxed back against the lounger. It was a miracle Tabitha hadn’t learned to walk yet. She sat like a blob, uninterested in her twin’s daredevil antics. Instead, she’d begun talking in full sentences—which was very impressive but also freaky in its own right. She was only a year old! But again, Trixie didn’t comment.</p><p>Bouncing Peter against her hip, Katya wiggled his chubby arm.</p><p>“You need to slow down,” she scolded him softly, pecking his clenched fist, “Do you have a deathwish, Petya?”</p><p>“A stuntman in training,” Trixie observed.</p><p>Katya shot her a dirty look, holding him closer. “Never.”</p><p>Smiling, Trixie shrugged and squirted more sunscreen onto her palm, working circles up her arms.</p><p>“You need to sit still,” Katya said to her son, as if he understood, “Like Tabi.”</p><p>Katya and Trixie both looked at Tabitha, who had plopped herself down in the wet mud, spreading grime all over her head, face, and body with a huge gumless smile—like it was the best feeling in the world.</p><p>“Oh, Tabi,” Katya groaned, “No.”</p><p>“Ma. Mud is good,” Tabitha babbled, dropping a fresh plop on her head, “Pretty.”</p><p>Trixie laughed. Katya did not.</p><p>“If one is in trouble, the other is sure to follow,” she mumbled, her expression frantic and apologetic,”Trixie, are you <em>sure</em> you want to watch them? Kasha and Tempest can—?”</p><p>“No! No, I don’t mind!! I haven’t seen them in forever, Katya,” she said, waving her hands, “Really. I barely get to see <em>you</em>, let alone them. I’m so busy all the time.”</p><p>“Okay,” Katya replied softly, her smile so warm and sweet that Trixie felt her temperature spike, a sugar rush of nervous energy. Katya bounced Peter against her hip. “Are you excited for your award?”</p><p>“It’s Teen Choice.” Trixie said, self-deprecating, “I’ll be lucky if I make it off the podium without being slimed or something.”</p><p>She flashed her eyebrows. “That sounds fun.”</p><p>“And you wonder where Tabitha gets it?”</p><p>At her name, Tabitha giggled and played bongos on her muddy belly.</p><p>“I don’t have a date or anything,” Trixie said cautiously, curling her legs into a pretzel, “Do you wanna go with me? We can...have a night. If you want.”</p><p>“Me? On the arm of a gorgeous pop-star? Little old me? A mother of two?”</p><p>“I’m slumming it, obviously,” Trixie teased, gesturing at her, “but you clean up pretty good.”</p><p>Katya smiled, swaying back and forth with Peter, dressed in couture with those killer heels and her chopped platinum hair. She looked like something out of an aspirational lifestyle magazine, the stuff of hopes and dreams.</p><p>“Oh-ho-ho, oh no,” a deep voice laughed out of nowhere, “What happened to <em>you</em>, angel?</p><p>In a sharp suit, Karl traipsed across the lawn in a beeline toward his daughter, adjusting his cuffs. He grabbed a towel slung over a chair and shook it out, gingerly stepping into the garden. Delighted, the filthy baby squealed and held up her hands.</p><p>“Up! Up. Up.”</p><p>Quickly, he swaddled her in the towel (so as not to ruin his clothes) and lifted her. He groaned a little, and Katya tutted at him.</p><p>“Do not overdo it, Karl,” she warned, “I am not taking you back to hospital.”</p><p>“Doubting Thomas,” Karl said to Tabitha, smiling, “You mother is a Doubting Thomas.”</p><p>“Downy Tuffness.”</p><p>“Exactly right, honey.”</p><p>Trixie held up her hand. “Hey, Karl.”</p><p>He seemed surprised, only then noticing her by the pool. She didn’t mind being overlooked. Though he was still her acting manager, they continued keeping each other at arm’s length--all business, cool and quiet, just how she liked it. Thankfully, her friendship with Katya rarely entered the conversation anymore. He wasn’t getting any more tasty tales.</p><p>Idle hands, devil’s playthings, and now both Karl and Katya were holding a kid, smitten with their precocious children. The twins certainly kept them busy. It was a good thing.</p><p>“Hello, Trixie,” Karl said, polite but confused, “What are—?”</p><p>He looked to Katya, bouncing the little girl in his arms.</p><p>“She is helping Kasha and Tempest with the twins tonight.”</p><p>“Oh,” he said, nodding to Trixie, “Thank you.”</p><p>“Happy to do it,” she replied.</p><p>Trixie truly wished she saw them more. As one of their many godmothers—among Ginger, Alyssa, and Phiona—Aunt Trixie had to wheel-and-deal for her time with the Wonder Twins.</p><p>Karl cleared his throat, pivoting to Katya. “Are you ready, sugar? We need to rock n’ roll.”</p><p>She pursed her lips.</p><p>“We need to leave,” he clarified with a smile.</p><p>“Okay. Yes. Yes! I am ready,” she said, adjusting her grip on Peter. Feet on the ground, Trixie held out her arms and Katya handed him over as if Peter were made of glass, planting him in her lap.</p><p>“I’ll take this one to Kasha. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled,” Karl said, walking off with Tabitha into the house.</p><p>Trixie bounced her legs, grinning wide when Peter clapped and giggled. She held him tight against her chest. It always surprised her how soft and warm the babies were, how they smelled so wonderful, how they could be so sweet even when they acted their worst—much like someone else she knew.</p><p>“I will go with you,” Katya said then, “To the Teenager Choice.”</p><p>With a big grin, Trixie looked up. “Yeah? You will?”</p><p>Katya smiled, nodded.</p><p>“Unless I find somebody better,” Trixie teased—but she was so obviously pleased, there wasn’t any sting to her words. She hadn’t asked anyone else, and she certainly wouldn’t now.</p><p>Grabbing her Hermès clutch, Katya kissed Peter on the head, and then pecked Trixie on the cheek.</p><p>“Have fun,” Trixie chirped.</p><p>With a little wave goodbye, Katya waltzed off and Trixie lifted Peter, bringing him with her into the lawn. Trixie sighed, digging her toes into the cool grass. She watched Peter run about on his chubby little legs, chasing after the butterflies in Beverly Hills. They always flitted right out of his reach, so he swatted at them some more—frustrated and ineffectual.</p><p>She knew the feeling.</p><p>She knew how it felt to catch one too.</p><p>Trixie had achieved so many of her dreams, which happened so rarely to anyone, and yet had happened for her; so she was at peace with the loose ends in her friendship with Katya—and the knotted ones too. She didn’t expect to make any new secrets at the Teen Choice Awards—nothing like Ojai—but it was that time of the year again, wasn’t it?</p><p>The bloom of summer. June. A strawberry moon rising.</p><p>Anything could happen.</p><p>THE END</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><i>(If you care to yell at me, curse at me, throw hands, etcetera...I invite you to do so over on Tumblr @vrginsacrifice. I've also curated a groovy little playlist for both fics, which can be found <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4j41x5LE1O1Wo5YSH5WsCG?si=Jy2TkUkYR8uMAOczrrpVxA">HERE</a></i>.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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